Ithaca
by TheEndless7
Summary: The Triwizard Tournament ends with tragedy. One champion is left dead, two more maimed, and one missing and presumed dead. And now Harry Potter finds himself on a strange island with a strange woman and no idea just how to get back home to Hogwarts.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit.

Acknowledgments: Rpeh for the beta work.

Ithaca

Chapter One

Hermione Granger watched as her best friend enter the Hedge Maze. She could feel her stomach knotting as he disappeared from sight. She detested that all she could do was watch him face whatever was in there. She frowned as he vanished into the darkness of the maze,

That was part of the challenge, she guessed, facing the unknown with nothing more than a wand as a guide. Deep down she knew full well that he was prepared. She'd spent too many nights going over all of the spells they could find that they thought would serve any purpose in the maze for him to not be prepared. And she knew he relished the thought of facing his fears, of walking into uncharted territory. Harry Potter, she knew, was more excited than afraid.

He'd never been one to be afraid. No, that was her and Ron. They'd been afraid enough for all three of them. Even now Ron clenched her hand so tightly in his that it was painful. She didn't care though, she liked the security it provided.

A security she'd needed a lot of in her fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Oh sure, in September it had sounded amazingly fun. The revival of a famous old tournament for the older students? That was certainly going to be more interesting than watching stupid quidditch matches every couple of months. And, she was sure, would cause there to be far more conversations about magic than sports.

She hadn't been wrong, but it had been a bit of a monkey's paw argument. Sure, she hadn't had to listen to any dreadfully boring quidditch talk for the entire year. But, of course, Harry's name had somehow come out of the Goblet.

It didn't matter that he was too young to compete. Or that Hogwarts already had a champion. Or that he hadn't put his name in or arranged for it to be in at all. Of course those details didn't matter in the least. Why would they?

Oh no, he had to compete! His name had come out of the Goblet after all. So he had to compete. Simple as that! Even if it made no sense. No, that didn't matter. New rules put in place? Why would those matter?

Hermione was still furious about that. How the Headmaster hadn't managed to find some loop hole, some way around the stupidity of a fourteen-year-old boy with no interest of competing being forced to. Well, she had no idea. It was absurd to her. The only thought she could get to, logically, was that the older Wizard hadn't really been interested in preventing Harry from competing.

But the why of that she couldn't figure out. No matter how much her mind wandered around the problem. And that was all it was capable of doing at the moment, as a gigantic hedge maze was certainly a terrible venue for viewing final task.

Dragons had been absurd, everyone knew that. Bringing violent fire-breathing beasts to the school and then having students evade them was just a horrible idea. There was no way to justify it. And frankly, there were lucky no one was killed!

But, she had to admit, grudgingly, that it had been entertaining to watch. Even if the French harlot had the most unique solution, magically speaking. She couldn't help but wonder just how challenging it must have been to enchant a dragon to sleep. Just the amount of power it would take one person to pull that off seemed shocking. And for a seventeen year old witch to do it? Well it was rather remarkable.

Cedric and Viktor had also at least used magic to get to their goal. Both in characteristically obvious ways.

Cedric had out-thought the problem and gotten past it on sheer determination with a series of incredible transfigurations long enough to play to the dragon's most basic needs. He'd distracted it with food and managed to get to his goal while it wasn't looking. It was artful and effective but was really nothing more than a series of simple spells used effectively.

Viktor had just powered right on through it. He was the only one who'd attacked the dragon. It yielded mixed results. But he'd succeeded in the end. Hermione frowned at the thought as her mind pulled her elsewhere. It should have been obvious then, but she hadn't been looking at it close enough.

Viktor powered through everything. He'd grown too accustomed to getting exactly what he wanted, as soon as he wanted it, that nothing seemed interested in standing in his way. The dragon had been some trouble, but not enough.

It irritated her now that she'd been too blind to it all. But, in the end, it was his forcing his way into any situation that soured their relationship. He'd thought he deserved something from her after the second task. Something that she wasn't remotely ready to give.

Ron had taken her entire relationship with Viktor, if it could even be called that, very poorly. So poorly that she never brought up the ending of it to him.

No, it had been Harry who'd sat with her, held her, let her cry into his shoulder after it was all over. And he hadn't pressed at all, he'd been able to just tell that she didn't want, or need, to talk about it.

Eventually, everything had gone back to normal between the three of them. And they never brought it up together. Which she was thankful for. But it had been one specific friend who'd gotten her to that point. And it was the same friend that she wasn't able to help out now. And that thought still ate away at her.

She was lucky she'd been asleep during the second task. And not just because most of the students complained it was too difficult to actually view any of the action. Because at least for that task she wasn't worried about Harry. Although Harry's wellbeing was her first thought when she woke up.

Memories of the complaints about the second task drew her back to reality. There wasn't any action from the maze. From the top of the quidditch stands they could see parts of it. But the hedges seemed to alter and move and block views whenever someone game upon anything hazardous. She had the briefly morbid thought that perhaps it was enchanted so that they wouldn't be able to see anything too gruesome.

The only spot they could consistently see was the center of the maze. Where the final trophy, the glowing Triwzard Cup, sat on prime display.

She couldn't help but agree with Dean Thomas's mutterings in front of her though. Her father loved football and racing and the cameras on that never missed any of the action. And yet here they were, hosting the Triwizard Tournament, viewing it live, and it was almost impossible to catch a glimpse of anything going on.

She let out a long, annoyed sigh as she thought more about it. Ron, his sister Ginny and Lavender Brown, the three people closest to her in the stands, all shifted away as she did. She frowned, thinking they probably expected her to start lecturing at any moment. But she had nothing to lecture on. Really, she just wanted this to be over.

Hermione continued to scan the maze, doing her best to keep Harry in her sights. It seemed to her like the crowd was losing some interest in the task. Conversations were popping up here and there, a small din rising from the stands.

Ludo Bagman, the tournament's announcer, seemed to notice this and suddenly his voice boomed through the stands, narrating some of what was going on in the maze. Hermione tuned him out and continued to keep her focus on Harry.

"It's going to rain," Ron sighed, staring up at the sky.

"I hope not," Ginny responded, frowning as a flash of lightning streaked off in the distance.

"That will make this miserable," Ron added.

"More so for those in the maze," Hermione chided.

"It'll make it even harder to see," Ron said.

"And colder," Ginny sighed, casting a preemptive warming charm on herself.

"You should have worn a sweater," Hermione said.

"Something's happening," Ron said as the rain began to fall. Hermione took out her wand and charmed the area around her to deflect the water. Other students were probably annoyed with her, but they were free to cast the same spell themselves.

"Who was over there?" Ginny asked as flames rose from one of the hedges.

"Fleur Delacour, I think," Lavender said as the rain started to fall harder. She leaned closer to the others, trying to get more of her body under Hermione's spell. The professors and officials flying around the maze all convened on that location as more lightning streamed around them.

Fire and smoke continued to rise up from the hedges as time slowed to a crawl. It seemed as if every person in the stands leaned toward the action, trying to get a glimpse of whatever could be causing it. Trying to will the hedges to move to reveal more of the action.

But the hedges didn't move. At least not while there was anything to see. Eventually a slew of magical sparks flew into the air. Two of the officials dived into the maze, forcing their brooms quickly to the ground. They emerged a moment later cradling the body of Fleur Delacour.

The French Champion's uniform was shredded, scraps of it clinging wetly to her body. Her hair, which had been in a pristine bun when she'd entered the maze, was disheveled and part of it appeared to have been burned away. There were also visible burns on her skin.

"Oh, Merlin is she dead?" Ginny gasped.

"She's still breathing," Hermione said, noticing a slow rising and falling from the champion's chest.

"Oh, thank God," Ginny said.

"For sure. The world can't afford that loss," Ron japed. Ginny hit him on the back, a resounding thunk echoing with the impact.

"Prat," she said.

"Ow," Ron whined. Hermione slid her hand from his and continued staring at the maze. Her eyes flashed to the cup in the center, wishing that someone would step into that small area and claim it for their own, ending the entire thing. But she wouldn't be that lucky. Not this quickly, that much she knew. She watched the rain continue to fall, pooling on the ground as the officials rushed Fleur away from the arena.

"I wonder what got her," Hermione said in an attempt to get her mind off just what could be happening to Harry. Of course, she knew that whatever had ended the French champion's night could easily end Harry's.

"Probably that," Ginny gasped as Hermione's question was answered by one of Hagrid's Blast-Ended monsters punching through one of the hedges. It hissed, an oddly cackling noise as the rain impacted on its still smoking end. The creature charged toward the stands, but about twenty spells hit it immediately. When the dust cleared there wasn't anything left of it.

Hermione paused for a moment, finding herself feeling pity for the thing. She wondered if Hagrid knew all along just what those creatures were going to be used for. And if the giant felt sad for its demise. She shook that thought out of her head.

Excruciatingly long minutes passed as they continued to stare at the maze. She heard Ginny and Lavender talking but didn't pay attention to their conversations. Instead she just kept watching the maze, her entire body tense with nerves as she waited for something else to happen.

She didn't have to wait long. Moments later bright flashes of color shot from the maze, contrasting with the occasional flash of lightning. They were the unmistakable signs of dueling. Hermione bit her lip as she watched. A duel was certainly not an area Harry would have an advantage. She hoped it wasn't him. But why would the Champions be fighting each other? The goal was to get to the center of the maze.

Well, no, she thought. The goal was to win a race to the center of the maze. And a disabled opponent was considerably less likely to make it all the way to the center. Getting rid of the competition merely meant whoever was left could be more careful.

The flashes continued for about three minutes before they stopped. No sparks rose this time. Two officials again floated over toward where the action had been. They swooped into the maze and emerged with Cedric Diggory.

"He's not moving at all," Ginny said.

"No, he isn't," Hermione said.

"That's…not good," Ron added.

"What happened in there," Lavender gasped.

"There's no way to know," Hermione frowned as the officials sped off toward the castle with Cedric's body.

"What if something happens to Harry?" Ginny gasped.

"We've been saying that the entire tournament," Ron said as reassuringly as possible. "And yet he's still fine. I'm sure he'll be fine."

"It's just him and Krum left in there, though," Ginny said. "And you've heard what they teach at Durmstrang!"

"He'll figure it out," Ron said, his tone betraying his words.

"He better," Ginny said.

And their watch continued. A half hour passed with no action. Then an hour. And then another. The rain slowed and stopped in that time as everyone in the crowd grew progressively more fidgety. The only visible movement from before them was the maze shifting every few moments.

Whispers started to circulate through the crowd about what happened to Fleur and Cedric. But there seemed to be nothing but rampant speculation with no basis or backing, so Hermione ignored them.

And then it happened again. This time the flashes of magic were near the center of the maze. What seemed like just feet from the cup. They exploded more brightly than they had before. And continued for far longer.

No, this was not some quick fight. The magic grew bright and brighter as it flashed around parts of the maze. It seemed nearly constant and it just continued and continued and continued. She didn't know how two people could fight for as long as they did.

Until finally there was one bright flash of purple light, bright and powerful enough that chunks of the hedges blasted up into the air and two officials had to dodge out of the way of the debris. They did not dive into the maze immediately this time. Instead they hovered for a moment as if being held back by something.

But that only lasted for a moment. Eventually they dived, far more cautiously than before, as if afraid of whatever they'd just seen. When they emerged a few minutes later, the blood red robes were an easy enough identifier of who they brought back with them.

"Holy shit," Ron said.

"Did he just win?" Ginny asked.

"Not unless he gets to the cup," Hermione frowned. And then she couldn't help it, the pedantic know-it-all part of her had to add. "The last time a tournament was held all the contestants died on the last task and there was no winner."

"Well that's fantastic news," Ron said, darkly.

They didn't have to worry for very long, though. It was merely minutes later when Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, stumbled into the center of the maze. He stared at the cup for a few seconds, taking a moment to adjust his disheveled robes. Hermione couldn't help but laugh at that small action.

He didn't look that bad, all things entailed. He was limping slightly, sure, and he held one hand gingerly at his side. But he was still ambulatory and didn't seem that hobbled. And it would all be over soon, so she wouldn't have to worry about that for much longer.

Harry walked slowly up to the cup. It seemed to take him about twice as many steps as it should have. He paused as he stood right before it and then, after taking a deep breath, he reached out and grabbed it.

And then the world exploded.

No, Hermione thought, that was too dramatic. There was merely a blinding flash of light so bight that she assumed it would make the Muggle papers the next morning. It only flashed for a few seconds but it took longer for her to blink her vision back into focus.

When it was finally in focus again she stared down at the center of the maze. Naturally, it was completely empty. She blinked a couple more times just to make sure that everything was in focus, that her mind wasn't playing any tricks on her. But the chaos that erupted told her it wasn't.

The officials all descended on the maze and started to disenchant it and clear it away Working hastily, as if afraid of what they would find when it was gone. Professors Dumbledore, Sprout, and McGonagall joined them immediately as Flitwick and Snape sped off toward the castle.

They worked quickly. At first, some of the other Professors tried to herd the students away from the maze. But there was too much pushback from all three of the schools present. Instead they watched the maze be torn down.

Eventually they seemed to realize it would be quicker with more help. And many students, including Hermione, joined in with vanishing and disenchanting bits of hedges while the professors took care of some of the more dangerous creatures, including a banshee, and a vampire.

It took about an hour to clear away everything and when they'd finished there was still no sign of Harry Potter. She heard Rita Skeeter mumbling nearby, dictating a headline to herself and giggling about 'The Lost Champion' as it were. Her expression was far too gleeful so Hermione moved quickly away from her and toward Dumbledore.

"Where could he be?" she heard McGonagall hiss under the din of noise from the students.

"I do not know," Dumbledore said. It occurred to Hermione they were standing near the center of the maze at that point. Dumbledore was waving his wand around, and then staring at it as if looking for a reading.

"And how was he doing that?" McGonagall asked. "You saw what he did to that Durmstrang boy. Krum should have been able to beat him easily after what he did to Diggory. But Harry overpowered him. How is that even possible?"

"Again, Minerva, I do not know," Dumbledore said.

"We should have never let him compete. This entire situation was awful from the start. We should have done something," McGonagall said. Dumbledore let her rant as he frowned down at his wand.

"A portkey," he said.

"What?" McGonagall asked.

"Someone turned the cup into a Portkey," Dumbledore said.

"To where?" McGonagall asked.

"Somewhere south of here," Dumbledore frowned, shaking his wand as if he expected that to change the reading. "I need you to gather up all of the staff and officials and confiscate their wands."

"They won't like that," McGonagall said.

"Portkey enchantments don't last long," Dumbledore said. The staff and officials are the only ones who had access to the cup. Whoever cast it is either still here or fled. I trust you have the list of everyone who present."

"Of course," McGonagall said. "I will get to work."

"Thank you, Minerva," Dumbledore said. The transfiguration professor nodded and walked away from him, starting the task at hand.

Hermione tried to get closer. She knew there probably wasn't anything she could do to help but she wanted to at least try. However, she was almost immediately ushered away by a copper-skinned Ravenclaw prefect.

But Hermione used Padma Patil sprinting toward the same Prefect as an excuse to slip away unnoticed. She decided this time to keep her distance and just help out with the clean up as much as possible as the deconstruction of the maze and capturing of the creatures inside continued.

To her surprise she found herself working next to a sphinx for a few moments, and two harpies moments later, before ministry officials approached the creatures and requested they return home. All three complied without any fight and Hermione wondered, for a moment, just how dangerous the tournament was.

Of course there were other things she saw being led away that seemed far less sentient than those creatures. She shivered slightly as a few acromantula wandered past. Her main goal, though, wasn't to assist with the cleanup. No, her main goal was to eavesdrop on officials.

It was too hectic to be productive. Hours later, with the pitch fully cleaned out and the Prefects rounding up the remaining students and forcing them back to their common rooms, she realized she had learned absolutely nothing. She looked around for Dumbledore or McGonagall, wondering if she could be annoying enough to get some sort of explanation. But neither of the professors was anywhere to be seen.

The Weasley twins managed to bring food and drink to the common room. It was a somber affair as everyone wondered about Harry. Hermione sat in a chair by the fireplace and stared at the flames, wishing she could think of something to do to help. But nothing came to her.

Most of her house mates tried to talk to her, but her lack of interest in conversation soon became apparent and they left her alone, instead turning to Ron.

Ron, at least, seemed to relish the attention. He blustered on with a bravado she knew she couldn't have ever managed. Every time he spoke it was expressing disbelief that anything could happen to Harry. And that when it was all over, he'd be back and triumphant. But, she saw the façade break whenever someone left him alone. She saw his face fall. And she saw the worry line his features.

She fell asleep in the chair. A concerned seventh year Prefect nudged her awake early in the morning and helped her to her dormitory. Getting there was a haze. She didn't sleep well after and found herself up early, feeling miserable and lonely as she went to breakfast.

For a moment she thought she might find Harry down there, nervously poking his fork into eggs and being annoyed at questions about what happened in the maze. But he wasn't there. And the paper was filled with headlines about how he was missing, how Krum had assaulted Delacour and murdered Diggory in the maze. And how he still wasn't awake after whatever Harry had done to him.

There was some commentary on the duel. One of the officials observing from the air had talked about what happened. After seeing Krum completely outmatch Diggory he'd fully expected the Potter boy to be disposed of quickly.

But, from what the man said, it had seemed more like Harry was holding back, trying his best to reason with the Bulgarian champion. It wasn't until Viktor hit him with a series of progressively dark spells that Harry had fought back. And once he had, the fight only lasted seconds.

Hermione cried as she read the articles as the memory of Cedric's limp body flooded to the front of her mind. Two Prefects sat at the table next to her and she got the strangest feeling they were acting on orders from McGonagall as they did everything in their power to keep the few reporters who still lingered in the castle away from her.

The day passed in a blur. She only vaguely remembered talking to people. She barely registered that, despite his being missing, Harry Potter was ruled to be the victor of the Triwziard Tournament. There was no pomp associated with it, no fanfare at all. It wasn't even acknowledged in the school were black banners replacing the house banners.

The final days of term remained somber. Rumors were rife in every corner of the school, but the truth seemed impossible to find. Until the Weasley twins managed to con it out of one of their older brothers. No one really asked how they'd pulled it off. But, on the second to last night of term they shared their discovery with their friends and family.

Albus Dumbledore managed to trace the Portkey's magical trail. He and Mad-Eye Moody chased after the magic. According to the ministry they wound up in a small town in Northern England.

There wasn't any sign of Harry Potter when they arrived. Instead they'd found a destroyed cauldron, a burned-up circlet that disintegrated when they attempted to magically move it, a dismembered pig, and Barty Crouch, Jr.

Hermione had no idea who that was. But Neville Longbottom did. And he explained enough for the story to click. There had been a big fight, apparently. Because Mad-Eye was still in the hospital. Whatever he'd been cursed with made it seem like he'd become incredibly malnourished and they were slowly working him back to full health.

But even Dumbledore couldn't find any other trace of magic there. The twins claimed that Bill told them Dumbledore was recruiting for a defense group. And that he'd approached their brother because of his expertise in ancient tombs. Dumbledore had asked Bill and a few others to visit the town with him.

They'd all been able to sense the frightening, malevolent power in the air around the site the portkey led to. It wasn't like anything Bill had ever felt before. One of the other curse breakers claimed he'd sensed something similar out east. But he couldn't quite remember where, just that the feeling stuck with him.

They'd explored the area for hours, run every diagnostic spell they could think of, and done everything in their power to try to find out what happened there. But all they could come up with was that the pig wasn't really a pig. However; despite their best efforts, no one could undo the magic on it and return it to whatever its real form was.

And that was it. The Gryffindors listening to the twins were on the edge of their seats. But the story just ended. There was no satisfying resolution, no real tease of anything to come. Just the same mystery that existed before. Hermione sighed when they finished talking and just excused herself to bed.

That was not how she'd expected her fourth year of Hogwarts to end. The summer didn't seem like a welcome vacation, but rather an empty hole of confusion. She sat with Ron and Ginny on the train. None of them really spoke as the train trudged onward to London. By then they were all sick of discussing the rumors of Harry Potter. Doing so just left a sinking, empty feeling in their stomachs.

So, Hermione Granger did all she could do. She went home to London. She smiled a fake smile for her parents and, once again, lied to them about her year of school. After all, she couldn't tell them that there had been deaths and vanishing students. That would just frighten them. It was fine, she told them. Uneventful. She'd learned all sorts of new spells and charms and runes. She blabbed on about things she could do.

It made her feel better. Even if she utterly avoided the topic of her friend Harry. Her parents had to notice, she thought. She talked about him and Ron more than anyone else at school. And here she just didn't bring him up. But they didn't say anything. And, for a moment, it provided some solace.

But that left when she crawled into her own bed. Hermione broke then. Tears coming freely and silently down her face. She buried her head in her pillow and wondered just what misery Harry was being forced to endure at that same time, if he was even still alive. Eventually she fell asleep, wondering if she would ever see her best friend again.

The Sorceress opened her eyes slowly, finding herself annoyed at the coolness of the water around her. She could have rectified that easily enough but she was too annoyed she'd slept through the pleasant part of the bath, and her skin was starting to prune. The bath hadn't helped with her aching muscles as much as she'd hoped it would.

She rose out of the sunken marble tub and stared out over the wine-dark waters of the Aegean, the sunset reflecting on the waves. She waved a hand and the illusion hiding the wall vanished. She summoned a towel off of the wall and proceeded to dry herself. She could have done it magically, but the towel was warm and fluffy and felt wonderful on her skin.

She wrapped it around herself and summoned another to work on her hair. The Sorceress rolled her shoulders, annoyed at the stiffness still in her muscles. And more annoyed that the bath had done nothing to alleviate that tension.

Once her hair was sufficiently dry, she vanished that towel before waving her hand over the second one. It transformed around her, turning from a fluffy cotton into a white maxi dress with a ruffled skirt and a floral print. It wasn't quite her choice of attire. But she'd seen similar in shops and on other women. It would take some getting used to, but she may as well do so.

She created some simple sandals next. Something she was much more accustomed to, and stepped into them.

Finally, the Sorceress turned her attention to her hair. The brownish red mane fell down her back in a ruffled sheen. She grabbed a handful of it and brought it to her nose. Auburn, she thought, that was the word she was looking for. It was darker than it should have been but it It finally didn't smell rotten. No, that was wrong, it was lighter than it should have been but it had still taken far too long to get rid of the last vestiges of that scent. So long she'd debated just getting rid of all of her hair and starting over.

She'd seen women with shorter hair. But she struggled to picture herself without an elaborate braid. It just seemed wrong. So, she'd decided to keep it as it was, for now at least. She let magic pull it into her favorite braid, one that fell down the right side of her head. She watched it fall over her right shoulder, examining it as the magic finished its work. When it was done she flipped it back and looked into the looking glass for the full effect.

Something was still wrong with the figure that looked back. Something conflicting. But there didn't seem to be anything else to do. She yawned, fighting off the last vestiges of the bathtub nap as she looked at herself, trying to figure out exactly what was wrong. The proportions, she thought. The proportions seemed off. Some parts of her seemed too big, others too small and some curves seemed too round while others felt too flat.

The Sorceress couldn't help herself then, a smile revealing one dimple as she laughed. What a silly thing to think. But it stuck with her. There was truth in it somewhere. A truth she'd have to research.

But now wasn't the time for research. She instead had to focus on the task at hand. She stepped from her bathroom, through her bedroom, and into her laboratory. It was fairly sparse. She'd not been able to create as much as she'd like. But things were coming back to her. She was less exhausted after spells.

She was still sore, everywhere, constantly. But she would fight through it. She checked the potions she had brewing. Six at once, her ambient magic stirring and chopping and adjusting as she paced through the laboratory.

Perhaps, she thought, that was why she was so tired. She was overexerting herself. She should just let her body crash and wake up when it was ready to be productive. The tension was obviously its warning sign that she was working too hard and too fast. But she feared what would happen if she allowed that to occur.

So instead the Sorceress focused on the potions. Maybe six at once was too many. Maybe she could save some energy by dropping it down to four. Then maybe she wouldn't be as tired. But they were all important. They all served a purpose. Even if they weren't being as effective as they should be.

One new one looked about ready though. The yellowish paste of it bubbling slowly. The final bits, she frowned, would have to be completed by hand. She moved to that cauldron and summoned nightshade, hellsbore, moondew and a fine silver knife to her. She started chopping with the speed of experience.

It only took three seconds before she cut herself. She cursed herself as her left index finger immediately shot to her mouth. She laughed at herself, mostly in her own head, as the salty blood flowed into her, wondering how long it would be to kill that instinct. She could heal the wound in an instant, yet she'd still sought the immediate, physical comfort.

Her tongue pressed against the wound, she relaxed against the warmth of her life as it flowed into her. The wound closed moments later. She examined her clumsy fingers a moment later, wondering why they refused to obey. It was getting better, she thought, but her mind would have to slow down until her body could keep up.

The Sorceress frowned down at the drops of blood mixed in with her ingredients. They were useless now so she vanished them and started anew, going slowly this time. It took her a few minutes extra but she managed to chop and place them in a bowl.

She took the cauldron of yellowish paste and poured it into the bowl with the herbs before summoning a spoon and doing her best to mix everything into one. It took ten or so minutes but she passed the time by mixing as she checked on the other potions as well.

When she was satisfied with the final product she continued through the home and into the spare bedroom.

The boy certainly wasn't the best guest who'd ever slumbered in that room. But she didn't quite fully remember all of the others. And it had been so long since she'd had to that she just pushed the thought out of her head.

She approached the bed and looked down at him. He'd been asleep since she'd brought him into her home. She didn't know exactly what they'd done to him, or really who'd even done most of it. She wasn't even entirely sure why she was trying to fix him. Perhaps just to prove to herself she could. Of course, she was failing at providing that proof.

She put the paste down on the table next to the bed and pulled the covers back. He wore only underwear and his body was still covered with bruises and cuts and scars. They weren't killing him, at least not anymore. But they also weren't going away. She'd figured the epidural wounds would be easier to fix than whatever was going on under the surface. Even if they were less dangerous.

She'd been…well it was disingenuous to say she'd been wrong. Because she hadn't made much progress on whatever was going on inside either. So, that could still be harder. She didn't know what they'd done to him. So she didn't really know how to fix it.

She took the water that she'd left on the table and made him drink, slowly, using her magic to make sure he didn't choke. She made a mental note to start a nutritional potion if he didn't wake up. There was no reason to have him starve to death before she could fix him.

Once she was satisfied with the water she reached for the yellow paste and summoned a brush. Too much if it could burn straight through skin and start to eat away at muscles. But just a gentle brushing of it over the skin? That was wonderful at removing scaring and bruising. Well, normally at least. This was her third attempt. She was having some success, he was more a battered yellowy-green than purply-black now. So hooray for progress?

Either way, the Sorceress brushed his wounds until a fresh sheen coated him. Once she was done she put the paste on the table and examined him. She'd have to let the front soak in for two hours before she could flip him and work on the back.

She shook her wrists out as she watched, annoyed by the soreness from just briefly using a brush. But she knew she couldn't gain anything from continuing to whine about her own body. So, once she was sure he wasn't going to surprise her by waking up, she went back to the laboratory.

She didn't have any confidence in what was brewing. And she knew she couldn't just keep force feeding him potions. Eventually they'd become just as likely to kill him as help him. She frowned at that, wondering just what she could do to restore life.

Life. The word stuck in her head as the metallic tang of her blood stuck in her mouth. And then it clicked.

She grabbed a cauldron, fumbling with it as her fingers didn't seem to understand gripping correctly. She slammed it into a table fighting the urge to curse loudly. She summoned the knife to her and took a deep breath as her fingers wrapped around the handle.

The Sorceress then sliced open her left palm. She squeezed the blood into the cauldron, watching it drop into the black iron. She waited until her vision felt woozy. Then she healed the cut and left the laboratory for the kitchen.

It was new, freshly made based on sight and thought while traveling. But it was also remarkably sparse. She'd worry about rectifying that later. For now she found chocolate. A bar with the word Honeydukes written on the wrapper she'd taken from the boy. Why he'd had it in his uniform pocket she wasn't quite sure. But she felt an odd craving for the brown brick and ate half of it.

It warmed her and she returned to the guest bedroom. She summoned the knife once more, her fingers again fumbling with the handle. Once it was secure, she summoned a small glass vial. She paused for a moment. There was something that, in theory, could work better than blood. But that seemed excessive, so she decided blood would do. She pricked his finger and counted five drops of blood into the vial before closing that wound. The Sorceress didn't know why fresh wounds could be healed just fine, while old ones lingered. It was just another mystery with the boy.

She returned to the laboratory and added his blood to hers. She swirled it around for a moment before putting it over a gentle heat. She stared down at the blood as it started to boil.

One trick of potions that most people didn't understand was that the Elixir of Life wasn't really that difficult to make itself. It just required a lot of life. A donation that was, more often than not, fatal. The problem came with producing enough of it to counteract the cost of producing it.

The true genius of the Philosopher's Stone was its ability to effortlessly duplicate the elixir and thus create a form of immortality. But the potion itself really wasn't difficult. It was just not worth the donation required. After all, what was the point of extending your life a few hours if it took nearly a pint of your own blood to do so? Of course mixing their blood would dilute the power of the potion. But, if her hunch was correct, she didn't need a lot of power.

But she didn't need a few hours. She needed minutes. The elixir just needed to fight off whatever was going on inside the boy. Once it had done that, he should be fine. It would work more as a panacea than an elixir. And she shouldn't need much of it, just a few drops.

All-in-all it took her twelve hours, with small reprieve to brush the wounds on the boy's back, and another to flip him back onto his back and tuck him into the covers, to get it to the point where she could leave it unattended. She was impressed with herself. She could have probably done it in ten if she hadn't had trembling muscles and soreness to deal with. She left it on heat in her laboratory, watching for a few moments as the blood red started to burn to a pale gold, before she decided rest would do her good.

She woke around sunset the smell of burning coming from her lab. She vanished the offending potion, one designed to remove internal bleeding that she'd left on for too long, and turned her attention to the elixir. It looked ready. She sniffed it once and caught no odor.

The Sorceress figured it was worth a try by then. She examined him for a moment as she entered the bedroom. He was still out, his breathing rather shallow. She took the small vial of golden potion and poured it gently into his mouth. It took some coaxing to get him to swallow it, but he did.

Nothing happened. But she'd expected that. So she took the brush and the paste and gave his wounds one more coating of it. His breathing sped up as she did. Shortly after she finished she noticed his muscles tensing, his body struggling for something.

For the first time he started to move around, restlessly on the bed. She pulled up a chair and watched as he stretched and writhed and groaned. It lasted for all of fifteen minutes before he coughed and then groaned again. His eyelids fluttered but didn't open, his breathing seemed to level off. And then, finally, he opened his eyes.

The Sorceress smirked at him. Sure, it had taken her a lot longer than she'd though it would. But she'd fixed him. She doubted anyone else would have been able to do it. But who knows, people had surprised her before. No. No use thinking that. It was something only she would have been able to accomplish.

He groaned as his eyes opened. He blinked rapidly, sightless, as his world started to come into focus.

"Relax," she said, trying to sound as soothing as possible. "You're safe. Just relax. Don't fight it. You'll just work yourself up and pass out again." And, to her surprise, he listened. His body relaxed against the pillow. For a moment she had the strangest impression that this wasn't an altogether unusual situation for him. His eyes closed tightly and he took a moment to regulate his breathing. This time, when he was ready, he opened his eyes. They shot rapidly around the room until they rested on her.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice raspy. He reached for his throat but she leaned over him and took the water from the bedside table and offered it to him. He thanked her with a nod and sipped from it.

But his question caught her off guard. Stupid, she thought. Of course he'd ask that. That was obviously the first thing anyone would want to know! But what could she tell him? She couldn't give him her names. That would be ridiculous. There was no way he'd react positively to that. And then she'd have to fight back which would render her last week of effort utterly moot.

What could she tell him if not her names? Names? Why were so many flooding into her head? Some were unspeakable, some were comical and some were insults, even if nothing more than an adjective turned pronoun. And some sounded far too odd, even for her. There were far too many names for one person. So she frowned, until a solution flashed to the front of her .

"You can call me Emily," The Sorceress said softly, flashing a her warmest smile at him as he sipped the water.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit.

Acknowledgments: Rpeh on the beta work.

Chapter Two

"Well that's great," Harry said. He leaned over and put the glass of water back on the bedside table. Even the little motion seemed incredibly painful to him and he couldn't suppress the wince that came with moving. "But who are you?"

"You are quite astute, aren't you," the Sorceress said.

"I guess," Harry said, wincing a little bit more. "You're still not answering the question though."

"You need something for the pain," she said.

"No," Harry responded with more certainty than she would have thought him capable of at that moment. The vehemence in his tone surprised her.

"Oh? You're not in pain?" she asked.

"It's not that," Harry said quietly, wincing as he spoke.

"I see," she said quietly. "You're afraid."

"No!" he said, as if ashamed of the thought.

"It's alright to admit it," she said warmly, smiling at him. She sat on the edge of the bed and caught a quick glimpse of herself in the mirror above the empty dresser. Again, a wave of unfamiliarity rushed through her. Something was missing on her face as well. There was one where there should have been two? Or was it one where there should have been none? The Sorceress had to remind herself that it was something she could investigate later.

"No," Harry said quietly, and then frowned at her as she sat on the bed. A mistake, she thought. She didn't appear that much older than him. He'd probably never been in a situation similar before. She'd have to bring his attention back to the matter at hand.

"So why don't you want something that will make you feel better?" she asked.

"There's quite a few reasons," Harry said.

"And those would be?" she asked.

"It's not very intelligent to take strange potions from someone you don't know," Harry said.

"There is truth in those words," the Sorceress said. "But if not for me then you'd be dead."

"I couldn't have been that injured," Harry said.

"You've been asleep for a week," she said.

"What?" Harry asked, seeming astonished by the news.

"What do you even remember?" she asked.

"I was competing in the Triwizard Tournament," Harry said. "I'd out dueled Krum. He attacked me. But I beat him. It was close though. I vaguely remember seeing the cup. And then I just limped toward it. I took it and something pulled me away. I remember landing someplace dark and then I slipped and…I guess I must have hit my head or something."

"Does it hurt?" the Sorceress asked, gesturing to his head.

"A bit," Harry said. "But I'm still not going to take anything you offer until you tell me who you are."

"That information is virtually worthless to you," she said.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I can tell you anything. I could tell you I'm a nereid, or an ancient sea witch, or a foreign princess living in exile, or your arch nemesis, or anything and you'd have no Earthly idea if I'm telling you the truth. So, the answer serves you no real purpose," the Sorceress said.

"You could always just be honest, you know," Harry said.

"Perhaps I have been," the Sorceress responded.

"Does this amuse you?" Harry asked.

"A bit," she responded. "But I do think you will feel better if you get some type of medicine into you. And some food as well."

"Food does sound good," Harry said begrudgingly.

"Any preference?" she asked, knowing full well that she didn't have the provisions to cater to requests.

"I, uhm, you don't have to do that," Harry said, his voice growing gradually quieter as he spoke.

"And if I don't do it, you'll starve which would make my efforts the last few days worthless," she said, standing from the bed and smoothing out her dress. Harry blushed and looked away from her.

She returned to the kitchen and rifled through the cupboards, part of her regretting eating a chunk of his chocolate bar. She did have some fruits and vegetables though. Enough to make something passable.

The Sorceress summoned a bowl to her as knives started chopping some cucumbers and tomatoes. She found some olive oil and mixed it with a little bit of red wine vinegar before adding salt and pepper. She tasted it and frowned before digging out a lemon. Magic juiced it for her as she found some feta and popped a small piece into her mouth before mixing it in with the chopped vegetables. She drizzled the dressing over them before sliding the bowl away from her.

That wouldn't work as a full meal though. She knew she didn't have any meat. She did have a few figs though and some nuts. She put them onto a plate and shrugged, regretting that she'd been too indolent to visit the mainland and stock up. But she'd never needed a lot of food.

The Sorceress transfigured a tray and placed her creations onto it before carrying them back to the bedroom. Harry was sitting up. He'd finished the water on the bedside table. His eyes flashed to her as she entered, worry evident on his face. She tried to quell it with a smile as she put the tray down in his lap.

"Thanks," he muttered courteously. So at least he had manners, she thought. She nodded and took the glass of water from the table and refilled it.

"Sorry it isn't much," she said as she returned with more water. "But it's all I had."

"It's fine," he said quietly. She pressed her lips together, unconsciously moving them toward one corner of her mouth. Harry seemed to notice as he quickly continued. "Better than fine really, these must be very fresh."

"Well I'll find something better for later. But for now I'll leave you to it," she said, turning toward the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked. She paused in the doorway.

"I'm going to brew you a pain potion. They're best if fresh. And I think that by the time you have some food in you, you may be more receptive to the idea of sleeping it off," she said.

"Oh," he frowned. She raised her brows at him. It was like he was afraid of her leaving. And then it clicked. He was afraid of being alone. While he didn't know who she was or what she wanted, there was a comfort in not being completely alone in a strange place.

"I'll be just down the hall," she said. "If you need anything just yell, I'll hear you."

"I don't like feeling helpless," he said. She noticed he'd stopped eating and the worried expression had returned.

"Then you've got a problem for the next few days," she said. "Because unless you let me help you, you're not going to get better."

"What happened to me?" he asked.

"Lots of detrimental magic," the Sorceress said. "I'd hoped you'd be able to give me more details. When I got you here you were bleeding internally, unconscious, and heavily bruised and had a few assorted burns on your body."

"I see," he said quietly. He didn't seem to know what to say. She watched as he speared a piece of cucumber and ate it.

"I'd hoped to save most of this for when you were a bit more rested. But I haven't managed to diagnose that yet. I am, sadly, not as gifted medically as I would like," the Sorceress said.

"But I feel okay," Harry frowned.

"You are not," she said. "I merely managed to freeze it for the time being. The injuries will catch up soon."

"Then we should go to St. Mungo's," Harry said.

"I do not think magical travel would be good for you," she said.

"Why not?" Harry asked.

"Because I can't be certain that everything will stay where it's supposed to if there's still foreign magic attempting to harm you," the Sorceress said. It was easy enough to lie to him. She wondered if he'd have enough general medical knowledge to see through the ruse. Judging by his expression he did not.

"Oh," he said, staring down at a tomato and picturing it as part of his insides that didn't quite make it back to where they should have. He brushed it off of his fork and ate another cucumber and a square of feta instead.

"You aren't in immediate danger," the Sorceress said. "It will just start to be painful soon. And it isn't very smart to continue the stop gap methods. But with you coherent I'll be able to get a better read on what's going on. I would think within a week you'll be fine."

"That doesn't sound too bad," Harry said.

"It will almost certainly be a painful week," she commented.

"I've had worse," he responded confidently.

"Then you should eat up while I go and brew," she said. And this time she didn't wait for a response.

Once in her laboratory she spent a few moments vanishing the potions she wouldn't need. She'd perhaps been a bit overzealous when she'd started. She kept a batch of the skin salve on simmer, just in case the bruising didn't go away.

The Sorceress waved a hand and started to clean the used cauldrons. She watched as soapy sponges flew into the room and scrubbed away. She let the cleaning continue while she gathered up some more supplies. Her stores were lower than she would have like and the garden was in utter disarray. But given how long it had been unattended that shouldn't have surprised anyone.

She had enough for a few doses of a basic pain potion as well as a concoction of her own design that should heal internal injuries. She should have started forcing him to drink that earlier. But there was always the choking risk when they weren't conscious.

Which would have been fine, she thought. But that wasn't a pleasant thought so she shook it out of her head before she started to work on the potion.

She took out all of the ingredients she'd need and started with the water base on a low simmer. She had about forty-five seconds before she needed to get the chopped salamander tails into the water. She plopped them down onto the cutting board and picked up the fine silver knife. She leaned over it ready to chop with alacrity. But recent memories flooded to the front of her mind and instead she took a deep breath before chopping slowly.

She finished with just enough time and moved on to the two drops of dragon blood, letting them dilute slowly amongst the tails as she started organizing the herbs she would need, adding them a pinch at a time.

It was more work than just tossing them all together but it would increase potency of the batch and given that she was short on most ingredients it seemed better to make a stronger potion than a weaker one.

In the down time between adding in the ingredients she took a mortar and pestle and started to grind some valerian roots. It should have only taken a few moments but it took her longer than that as the tools felt odd in her hands.

Eventually she dumped about a quarter of the powdered root into the potion. It would add a drowsy component and put him to sleep. She hesitated with the mortar over the potion, her eyes on a couple of more roots laying next to the cauldron.

It wouldn't have any effect on taste, she thought, if she were to add five or six more into the concoction. And that would be all it would take. He'd drink it down without question, and then he'd never wake up. Problem solved.

No, she thought. It wouldn't solve any problems. It would just make enemies for her more powerful than she was capable of dealing with. And it wouldn't be right.

But that thought struck her as incorrect. Well both of those thoughts. The first one made her want to laugh. Enemies more powerful than her? Such a thing didn't exist. Such a thing would never exist. And the second one? Who cares if it's right or not, the point is that it would be done. And that was far more important.

No. You brought him into your home. You offered him hospitality, Xenia. You can't kill him while he's under your roof. The Gods do not take kindly to such things.

Except you know that's all bullshit. And anyway, you wouldn't kill him. He'd just be in a very long coma. The lack of sustenance would kill him. Hardly your fault. A simple accident really, just the misjudging of his metabolism. A mistake anyone could make when brewing.

Except the Sorceress did not make mistakes when brewing. And she did not harm her guests. She put the mortar down with a loud clang and forced herself to continue on the potion. There were only a few more ingredients before the halfway point where she'd have to let it boil for five minutes.

Her head was starting to throb. She brought her hands to her temples and started to massage herself, trying to pressure away the oncoming headache. But she knew it was fruitless. She'd either need alcohol or sleep to get rid of that pain she knew was coming. There was just too much in her head, too many new things. Too many things that didn't make sense.

Perhaps that's why she was focusing on the boy. There was something both familiar and unknown about the innocent resting in her spare bedroom. And focusing on his recovery had distracted her from her own problems.

She squeezed her eyes closed as she tried to massage the pressure out of her skull. She knew it would be futile. The headaches were becoming a more common occurrence and typical remedies had proven useless.

So far only sleep had really done anything. But that wasn't an option for a few hours yet. She checked on the pain potion as it simmered and started on another cauldron.

This potion was trickier and had a much smaller success window. She only had about fifteen minutes to make the entire thing and judging from her ingredient store only one attempt at it tonight.

It started with grappa. She took a swig of it before pouring the rest of the bottle into the cauldron. She let the taste linger on her lips and tongue for a moment before she summoned a few grapes from the kitchen and threw them into the cauldron. They wouldn't have quite the desired affect but it should be close enough. It was a trick he'd taught her years ago. The exact ingredients were less important than people thought. One really only needed something similar to get the desired result.

Some nutmeg and honey went in next as she lost herself in the routine, reflection on the man who introduced her to the wonders of potions. The first images that flooded through her head were of a fat old man with a silver moustache.

That was wrong though. She didn't know that man. Except she did. There was memory there through the foggy unfamiliarity of her mind. But it wasn't right. That man could brew potions, sure. But she felt no affection for him.

She dug deeper into her own mind, absentmindedly throwing a dragon liver into the cauldron as she did, until she found him. She could remember him clearly. Perhaps too clearly for the time that had passed. She could see him still. Tall, thin, neat black hair and icy blue eyes. Sad eyes and a sad smile. Eyes that stared off to nowhere far too long. A pang shot through her at the memory of those eyes.

He'd taught her so much. Magic, potions, enchanting, philosophy, art and oh so much more. She sprinkled the powdered slug onto the top of the purple liquid in her newest cauldron as she lost herself in her memories. It shifted to a pale lavender and she immediately cut off the heat and waved a hand over it to cool. Her head continued to throb as she used the magic.

The Sorceress prepared two cups of potion and returned to the guest bedroom. The boy was still leaning against the headboard of the bed. His eyes immediately shot to her as she entered the room. She put on her best and brightest smile and wasn't disappointed when he blushed and looked away.

"Potions done," she said brightly as she noticed that he'd eating all of the food she'd prepared and added. "Probably not the best after dinner drink but better than nothing."

"I'm starting to hurt pretty much everywhere," he admitted and she had the strangest feeling he was accustomed to injuries and had learned that admitting to them often led to recovery quicker than hiding them.

"Well the green one will mask the pain and the purple one should help deal with the internal injuries," the Sorceress said as she approached him with the cups.

"Which should I take first?" he asked. He still eyed them cautiously but seemed to have come to the conclusion that if she was going to poison him she'd have just done it with the food.

"The purple one," she said. He nodded and downed it in a couple of gulps. He gagged a bit against it and washed it down with some water. He then drank the majority of the pain potion without question. His eyes immediately drooped.

"You made it drowsy," he slurred.

"Of course I did," she smiled.

"I don't want to fall asleep here," he frowned.

"You will only get better if you sleep," she said.

"But I don't…" he started.

"Shh," she said as his eyes closed. For a moment she worried she might have had too heavy of a hand but his breathing regulated and he slouched down against the pillows. She waited a few moments, watching from afar, until she was positive he was asleep.

When she was sure she was asleep she walked toward the bed and leaned over him to tuck him under the covers. She brushed some of his matted hair off of his forehead and realized she should have probably offered him a shower or a bath before knocking him out. She looked to the potions. He'd only downed about three quarters of the pain potion. She brought the rest of it to her lips and drank it.

The icy liquid shot through her and straight to her head. She felt the chill of it try to fight against the throbbing ache behind her eyes. It dulled it to a bearable amount but she knew she'd have to sleep it off.

She left the guest bedroom and moved back into her laboratory. She cleaned up the remnants of the potions and straightened up what was still out as she felt the drowsiness hit her. Her eyes drooped and she did as much of an inventory as she could. But eventually the exhaustion won out and she left the laboratory and moved to her bedroom.

She shrugged the dress off of her shoulders, letting the garment vanish as it hit the floor before collapsing face first into her pillows. She rolled, cocooning herself in the soft, furry blankets before sleep took her.

Harry recovered faster than she'd anticipated. She chalked it up to her own skill, but she knew there was a sort of natural resilience in there as well. Whatever the Krum boy had done to him did have some lingering detrimental effects.

She'd kept him on a potions regimen that he took without much debate. She could tell that he wasn't overly happy about it, but that he did feel better after he took them. She knew he thought there was something in them that was keeping him on them to keep him there. But, despite the cleverness of that idea, she wasn't.

Still, in the last week, he'd managed to get up and about. And, despite himself, he seemed to be enjoying himself. Which, frankly, wasn't very hard to do on a Greek island.

Even she managed to relearn some of the more basic pleasures it offered. Morning walks through the small wooded area around her home were always a good way to start the day. Even if the native foliage wasn't providing much for her stores.

But her garden was coming along. And, to her surprise, he seemed interested in helping in it. Perhaps interested was the wrong term. He helped largely, she assumed, because it gave him something to do for a few hours a day. Even if even the little bit of manual labor wore him out.

He was getting stronger though. Another week, she thought, maybe ten days, and he should be back to normal. Faster if he could remember what actually happened to him and she could use more than generalized potions to counter it.

And she could fill the afternoon with trips to the small town that built up on the shoreline. It wasn't much of one. She would have never allowed for it to exist had she been around. But now she found it useful. The muggles were friendly and didn't ask a lot of questions and had plenty of food for sale.

She hadn't let Harry wander toward the town yet. It sounded mildly sinister in her head. But it was a good forty-five minute walk to and from and she didn't think he had the strength yet. He struggled even walking down from the house to the beach.

He would have liked the town though. And given that they were all muggle he wouldn't have to worry about any unwanted attention.

The muggles never wandered up toward her house in the hills. So, the ancient magics were still holding just fine. That gave her some pause. She couldn't help but wonder just how powerful that magic must have been. It actually scared her to think about it. Which made her laugh at the absurdity of it. Something that scared her?

Yet it was powerful, ancient, and almost unnoticeable. By all accounts it shouldn't exist. Yet here it was. And she couldn't help but wonder about how it actually existed.

Except she knew how it existed. She knew who cast it. She knew everything about them, every detail in their casting, and every weakness, every strength, every possible bit to know. It was all right there.

She let her mind wander away from ancient magic and to the other ways she killed afternoons. There wasn't anything quite as refreshing as a swim in afternoon sun. And then drying off on the warm beach after.

Her skin didn't seem to like it quite as much as it used to. The pale, milk-tone of it simply turned a lobster red at first. But a little salve and some balm and it had darkened to a more acceptable color.

"Emily?" a soft voice asked. She sat up and looked around, wondering what two fools had decided to intrude on her island and disturb her lazy sunbathing. But there wasn't anyone in front of her, walking up from the water. And only Harry could have come from behind her.

"Emily?" it asked again. And then it dawned on her. That was her name. Or kind of her name? Or had been her name. It was confusing up there. She turned to look at him.

"Good afternoon Harry. Did you enjoy your nap?" she asked as she propped herself up on her arms only to notice he was starring. She frowned and remembered she was wearing something similar to what she noticed the muggles at the beach near the town wearing. It was both revealing and unnecessary in her mind. But she didn't want to distract the boy at all. So a quick thought transformed the towel she rested on into a coverup and she stood.

"It was fine," Harry said. "Although I hate taking them."

"Nonsense," she said brightly. "Naps are wonderful."

"Maybe," he said. "But less so when you don't want to sleep any longer."

"Did you want to go for a swim?" she asked, changing the subject. She didn't know if he should, but she could save him before he drowned.

"I'd love to," he said. "But I don't think I should get in the water. I'm tired again."

"Should we walk back up to the house?" she asked.

"I want to sit for a bit," he said. He sat near where she stood and looked out over the water. She waved her hand and an umbrella set up behind him and a blanket underneath him. She sat next to him and peered out over the water as well.

"This place is beautiful," he said.

"It is," she agreed.

"You haven't told me exactly what it is," he responded.

"It's my island," she said.

"That's not exactly helpful," he said. "Does it have a name?"

"Lepsia" the sorceress lied quickly, figuring he didn't have enough knowledge of Grecian geography for it to have any meaning to him.

"That didn't help," Harry said.

"I didn't think it would," she smiled. He glared at her.

"How did I even get here?" he asked.

"I don't know. I told you already I found you on the beach," the Sorceress said.

"I was in England," he said, almost angrily. "And then I'm just here."

"I'd like to think there are worse places to be than this," she said, turning her gaze from him and off toward the wine-dark sea.

"I…" Harry sighed. "It is. But I still don't like being cooped up. I want to go home."

"You've mentioned that you don't really like your relatives," she said, remembering a few nights earlier when she'd pried that information out of him as he'd commented the view was much better than at home.

"I don't," he said. "But I like being cooped up less."

"Cooped up?" she frowned, looking down the beach and then back up the hill toward her rather large home.

"You know what I mean," he sighed. "If only you had an owl so I could send them a letter or something. Or could make a portkey."

"Sorry," she frowned, looking demurely toward the ground and putting her best practiced pout on. It worked.

"Oh it's fine," he said, sounding immediately flustered. She didn't respond. She pulled her knees up to her face and wrapped her arms around them, directing her gaze anywhere but at Harry. She made sure he broke the silence.

"Can I ask about that?" he asked.

"About what?" she responded.

"How is it that you can brew anything, wave your hand and transfigure anything, but can't make a portkey or Apparate?" he asked.

"I can Apparate," she snapped defensively. "You just have to know your destination and I don't know enough places outside the island to get you back home."

"Sorry," he said, visibly biting his tongue, his lips pressed together in an expression she could only call concern.

"And I've just always been good at potions and transfiguration," she shrugged, as if that was the only possible answer.

"How old are you anyway?" he asked.

"Twenty," she said. She'd simply said the first number that popped into her head. It was as good of guess as any. And people didn't often hesitate when giving their age. It wasn't until she said it that it occurred to her she should have led him around with comments about how rude he was to ask.

"Kind of young to own an island," Harry said. The boy was quicker than she'd expected. He

"Own is an interesting word," The Sorceress responded.

"Yet you call it yours," Harry said.

"Yes I do," she smiled.

"And that's all I'm getting out of you on that one, aren't I?" he asked.

"For now," she nodded.

"Alright then," he said and it was his turn to pout. She gazed at him in her peripheral vision and he looked sad. It sent a pang through her.

"Did you take your potions after your nap?" she asked.

"Yes," he sighed, the annoyance evident in his voice.

"And how are you feeling?" she asked. She'd asked the question three to five times a day for the last week and he responded much like any other annoyed teenager.

"Fine," he said.

"Fine as in up to attempt the trek to town?" she asked. His head immediately perked up as he turned to look at her.

"What?" he asked.

"You were complaining that my cooking doesn't incorporate enough meat," she started.

"Any meat," he corrected. She glared at him.

"So I was figuring you could come shopping with me and I could make something more to your liking this evening."

"What if I can't make it?" he asked.

"You'll make it," she said. "We'll just have to take it slow."

"I thought I was a prisoner here though," he said.

"A prisoner? I've not stopped you from going anywhere," she said.

"No, I suppose I've been the only one stopping me right now," he sighed.

"And a trip to town will do you good," she nodded and stood. A hand wave turned her cover-up into a white sundress.

"I think you're right," Harry said, standing as well. He wobbled as he stood but regained his balance quickly.

"Are you sure you're good?" she asked. "It is a long walk."

"I'm willing to risk it," he sighed. "Could you Apparate us closer?"

"Yes," she said. "But I'm worried about exposing you to too much magic since I don't know what happened to you. A lot of the darker curses grow more severe if you travel magically. Most people's instinct after they think they're in the clear is to rush to the hospital. It's not often the best solution."

"That's clever," Harry sighed. "Mean, but clever."

"I thought so too. Anyway if I didn't think you could make it I wouldn't have suggested the trip. You're recovering nicely. Worst case I leave you to fend for yourself in the forest for a night," she said jovially.

"Nice of you," he responded.

"Well I have a big warm comfortable bed. You can't expect me to willingly sleep on dirt," she responded.

"Of course not. What was I thinking?" Harry shook his head. She just smiled at him as they started down the path from the beach toward the town. She didn't push him very hard. But still, by the time they entered the market of the town he was rather winded. A few of the store clerks gave her brief waves as they wandered about.

She'd been a bit worried about Harry as they approached, but when he moved into the town he caught his second wind. She watched as he perked up at every stall, every bit of food, and every new experience.

He was visibly uncomfortable at first. But he adapted quickly and was interested in everything. It took most of the shopkeepers a few moments to realize he didn't speak Greek. She stepped in for the couple that didn't speak English.

The Sorceress managed to shop, always a few paces behind wherever Harry was, while he explored the market. She picked up the few ingredients that were available to her in the town and discreetly sent them back to her home. Once she was done she walked next to Harry.

"So, what's catching your eyes then?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said. "It all looks so good. But it's mostly fruits and vegetables. The peaches smell amazing."

"They do," she agreed. "But let's find a butcher then. I think there was a sign down that way."

"Okay," he agreed, walking toward where she gestured. She walked at his side and a few streets later they did see a local butcher shop. The butcher spoke no English but she translated. Harry spent more time peering at his young, blood-splattered young helper who may have been the butcher's daughter, than picking out meat.

Still the shop's pickings were a little slim, or perhaps simply too eclectic for Harry's tastes. She bought the few things he picked out, formulating menu ideas in her mind while the butcher's daughter packaged it all up neatly in white paper. Harry attempted to talk to her while she worked, but the language barrier was too much for them to do anything more than stammer and blush.

Which was a shame, she thought. Perhaps a pretty young Greek girl would be just what he'd need to stay more interested in remaining on her Island. With the way the girl blushed when he spoke, or looked at her, she had to be remotely interested in him. Perhaps she could fix the language barrier and use that to her advantage.

The butcher; however, seemed less interested in this. As she got a better look at the man she figured her initial guess of daughter was incorrect. There wasn't much of a familiar resemblance past hair color.

The man barked at her, ordering her to the back of the shop, as she finished wrapping up their meat. She jumped nearly out of her skin as she left. Harry, she noticed, made no attempt to hide his staring at her backside as she left the room.

The butcher watched her go with a possessive familiarity. Perhaps she was a relative. A niece perhaps. The man glared at Harry while she paid. The young wizard seemed to notice the man's gaze and did his best to look inconspicuous in the corner.

An icy chill rushed through her as other thoughts filled her head. No, she thought, that wasn't right. But the pounding was coming back behind her eyes. They were memories. Her memories. She'd seen looks like that before.

The man tried to chat with her while she paid, asking probing questions about her time on her island and her relationship with the boy. She almost answered him honestly but when she opened her mouth no words came out. Instead the icy chill seemed to permeate through the room.

She paid and took the meat before quickly moving out of the butcher shop. The late-afternoon sun warmed her some. She stared up at it as if trying to absorb the last vestiges of warmth the day was offering, or perhaps burn away the pain building behind her eyes.

"Are you okay, Emily?" Harry asked. The memories flooded into her head when he spoke that name. The sights, the smells, the sensations all returning far too quickly. She took deep breaths but it didn't calm her as she'd hoped.

"I'm fine," she said.

"You don't look fine," he said as he stepped around her.

"I was just reminded of something I'd forgotten about," she said, focusing on the words as she spoke, bringing her mind out of those memories. She realized she was still holding the groceries and she sent them back to the house and wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to quell the chill that spread through her.

"Something to do with why you don't eat meat?" he asked, his voice filled with concern. She paused and looked at him. She realized he was blaming himself for something he had absolutely no clue about.

"I eat meat," she said. The sentence felt strange on her tongue. But it wasn't a lie. All of her knew it wasn't a lie.

"I haven't seen you," he said.

"I like fruits and nuts more," she shrugged as the sun shifted underneath the buildings, blocking out the warmth. For a moment she thought she felt another pair of eyes on her. But she ignored it and started walking, perhaps too quickly, toward the harbor where she knew it would still be in the sky.

Harry caught up to her a moment later, breathing hard again. She frowned, immediately regretting her actions. But she stood in the sun just the same, letting it fight the lingering chill in her bones.

"I don't know that I'm going to be able to walk all the way back," he said. She turned her attention to him. He looked a little woozy on his feet. She looked around and spotted a small restaurant down by the water.

"Well, let's grab a bite to eat over there and see how you feel after you get some food into you," she said.

"Okay," Harry said, walking with her to the small restaurant. She got them a table down by the water and sat with her back to the ocean, the sun beating down on her neck. She could feel the tingling burn of overexposure on her neck and scoffed at the weakness in this skin. But it counteracted the chill and she still relished every moment of it, even if she'd have to brew balm before she slept.

"Well this seems nice," she said. A waiter approached them. He spent longer than he'd have liked looking at her, but she ignored him and ordered a bottle of wine for the table.

"Don't get out much?" he asked.

"Not much lately, no," she said.

"Me either," he admitted. "They only let us out a few weekends a year at school and I never go out at home."

"Something we should both work on then," she said, smiling warmly to attempt to make him feel more comfortable with being out.

"That sounds nice," he said quietly, turning his attention back to the menu and then frowning at it. She realized he probably couldn't read it and spent the next few minutes describing dishes to him while the waiter returned with their wine. He was hesitant to drink it but after trying it perked up quite a bit and drank almost all of his glass quickly. They ordered before the small talk resumed.

"Enjoy the trip to town?" she asked, leaning back in her chair.

"It's a nice little town," he said.

"I think I should be able to make a nice kebab with that lamb," she said. She noticed he blushed at the reminder of the butcher's shop.

"I've not had a lot of lamb. The Dursley's weren't huge fans and I didn't gravitate toward it at school," he said.

"Hopefully you like it. The selection wasn't that great," she said. "But the lamb looked good and the chicken should be fine."

"I hope so," he said. "I ordered chicken right?"

"Yes," she said. "And you seemed interested in some other type of meat while you were in the shop."

"I would have liked some pork," Harry said, clearly confused.

"No not that. The girl," she laughed.

"Oh," he blushed more.

"Anyone waiting for you back at school?" she asked.

"Like a girlfriend?" Harry asked.

"Exactly," she said.

"No," Harry said. "There was one girl. But another guy I know asked her out and they were dating."

"That happens," the Sorceress said.

"I discovered that," he said.

"Well, you should remember where that shop was and when you're feeling better wander down and chat with her," she said.

"We don't even speak the same language," he said, flushing a deep crimson.

"Like that matters," she said

"Seems important," he said.

"Hardly. Just grab a flower or two and sneak them to her with a smile. Do it for a couple of days and then try to find her outside of the shop and ask her to dinner," Emily said.

"That can't work," Harry laughed.

"It would work on me. I'll even teach you some Greek phrases," she said. Part of her scoffed at the notion. But it only took a few stray thoughts to quell that.

"Alright," he said, pausing as their food came. They ate quietly. She spent more time looking around the area than focusing on her food, picking at it here and there. But Harry looked famished and ate with alacrity.

She was only mildly surprised when she saw a familiar girl appear in the entrance to the harbor as she realized just who must have been watching them outside the shop. She looked uncomfortable in a shabby, but clean, dress. The girl scanned the crowd for something. But her eyes settled on Harry after a moment.

She took a visibly deep breath before starting down the rocky stairway to the water. She only made it a few steps before the butcher appeared behind her and grabbed a handful of her hair. He started dragging her up the stairs and out of sight. By the time Harry heard the commotion and turned they were already gone.

"What was that?" he asked.

"I didn't see anything," she said, stabbing at her food with her fork.

"Thought I heard something," he frowned.

"Oh, I didn't notice," she said. "So you were saying you'd like some pork?"

"I mean I always did like bacon in the morning," he said.

"I'll keep an eye out then," she said, her eyes drifting toward the empty pathway down to their restaurant.

"Thanks," he said quietly, blushing and looking down. They sat for a moment finishing their wine and then paying before they continued the conversation.

"How are you feeling now?" she asked.

"Really sick of that question," he responded.

"I can imagine. But it's an important question," she said.

"Better," he said. "Still tired but better."

"Think you can make the walk back?" she asked.

"Do I have a choice?" he asked.

"There's always a choice," she said.

"Well I think I can at least try," Harry said. "Besides those wooly blankets on my bed seem addictive."

"Addictive blankets?" she raised her brows. They'd been hers but felt too warm so she'd thrown them on his bed while he was unconscious and shivering. They were a soft, heavy furred blanket. She'd never even thought of doing something nefarious to them. Which, in hindsight, seemed like a wasted opportunity.

"They're incredibly soft and smell amazing," he blushed as he admitted to it. He certainly was honest, she thought.

"They were mine," she laughed. "A bit too warm for me though."

"I like them," Harry said, looking at every possible thing around them except for her.

"Maybe you can keep them as a souvenir. Something to remember little old me by," the Sorceress responded.

"Really?" Harry asked, his gaze snapping back to her.

"Sure," she said. "But I'm afraid they will not smell like me for very long if you're using them."

"I…uh," Harry stuttered, flushing an even deeper red as he tried to speak.

"I'm just teasing you," she said. "I take it there aren't many girls your age that do so?"

"No," Harry said. "At least not in a way that isn't…meaner."

"That could just mean they like you, you know," she responded.

"I doubt it," Harry said.

"You never know. Flirt back with them. See what happens. You're old enough for a fling or two," she said.

"I'm fourteen," he responded. She shrugged as if that simply proved her point.

"Are you ready to try to get back now?" she asked.

"I guess," he said.

"Then let's go," she said, leaving some money on the table as she stood. Harry nodded and followed her. She didn't try to push him on the return trip, which made it rather slow. But he at least managed to keep his breath this time, and attempt to hold a conversation.

"Emily isn't a very Greek name," he noted as they reached the halfway point of their journey.

"No, it isn't," she said.

"And you don't look much like the majority of people in the town," he said.

"Are you saying all Greeks look alike?" she asked.

"No, of course not," he flushed.

"Sounded like you were," she teased.

"It's just…you also don't have a hint of an accent in your English," he said. Of course not, you nitwit, she thought. But also, she realized it wasn't a bad point he was making as she'd only just picked up the language. She pressed her lips together as she thought of her reply.

"Good education," she said.

"Where?" he asked.

"Around," she countered. He sighed, coughing slightly against the effort as their path turned uphill.

"There's just something odd about you," he said.

"So you're calling me weird," she commented.

"Yes," he glowered, not rising to her bait this time.

"Well you're not wrong," she said.

"I have a problem, though," he said.

"Oh, are you okay?" she asked, putting as much concern into her voice as she could.

"I'm fine," he panted as they reached the top of the hill. He took a moment to rest against a tree. His eyes and pale skin stood out in the darkness. She wondered if she looked like as much of a milky ghost as he did or if she'd tanned enough.

"Then what's wrong?" she asked.

"I'm sure you know who I am," he said.

"Of course," she responded.

"So, you know who gave me this scar," he said.

"Of course," she said again, wondering if he was trying to bait her into something. Given the fact that he paused as if expecting more from her, she thought this must have been the case.

"Well it's not…I don't know that I should say common knowledge, as it was easy enough for my friend to look up. But she's more resourceful than most. But, her name is also Emily," Harry said.

"Is?" Emily asked, brows raised. "I was under the impression that you killed her as a baby."

"That's one theory," Harry said.

"And the others?" the Sorceress asked.

"I've encountered her since then," Harry said.

"That would make it seem like she wasn't quite dead then," she said.

"Mostly," Harry said. "But not entirely."

"So, you're accusing me of being her?" the Sorceress asked.

"Maybe," Harry said.

"Correct me if I'm wrong. But, she's, well, old. And I'm, well," she gestured at herself, figuring that it wasn't a lie if she didn't say it aloud.

"I've seen enough magic to know that something that frivolous may exist," Harry said.

"Looking young and pretty is frivolous?" the Sorceress pouted.

"I guess," Harry said.

"So, if I was…your arch nemesis…do you think that I would have found you washed up on a shore and nursed you back to health? Or go through all the effort of keeping you alive and healthy?" she asked. She turned away from him and resumed the walk to her home.

"Yes," Harry said, following after her.

"Why?" she laughed.

"I have no idea," Harry said. "Maybe she needs me alive for something. Maybe it amuses her? I don't think like you-know-who."

"Or maybe it's just a happy coincidence and you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth," the Sorceress said, hating herself for the analogy.

"Shouldn't I be wary of Greeks gifting horses?" Harry asked.

"You know your classics?" she asked.

"I mean, doesn't everyone know that one?" Harry said.

"Fewer than you'd expect," she said.

"I guess. And I know you're not going to tell me anything I want to know. But If I could ask one more question?" Harry asked.

"Go ahead," she responded.

"If I knew who you were, would I be afraid?" he asked.

"Almost certainly," she said.

"That's comforting," Harry sighed, lagging a little bit behind her. She turned to watch him, walking backwards up the final hill to her home.

"Now can I ask something?" the Sorceress asked.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"Had I answered any other way, would you have believed me?" she asked.

"No," Harry admitted.

"Then it doesn't matter what I say," the Sorceress said knowing she failed to mask the annoyance in her voice. She started up the steps toward the entrance of her secluded home, pulling her hair out of the braid. She knew full well he watched as she did and accentuated the sway of her hips as she approached the door.

"It matters to me," he said, stepping up the stairs after her.

"You made it back," she said.

"I did," he frowned, picking up on the sudden tension.

"You should go to bed," she said, kicking off her sandals near the door.

"I'm not that tired," Harry said. But by the time he'd removed his own shoes, knowing better than to leave them on, she'd already vanished from sight. He frowned as he stood in the middle of the entryway. And then flinched a little bit as he heard a door slam above him.

He knew he'd caused that tension. He knew he shouldn't have asked the questions he'd asked. He knew he seemed ungrateful for her efforts. But he hadn't been able to help it. Something about the whole situation just sat wrong with him.

The more he thought about it, the more his eyes started to droop. He knew there wouldn't be anything he could accomplish that night. But, even as he wandered toward his room, he felt stronger. It felt nice to be up and about and sure of his footing. He collapsed on the bed and thought that perhaps he wouldn't be there for much longer.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit

Acknowledgments: Rpeh for the beta work on this.

Chapter Three

Harry woke in a cocoon of flowery warmth. He kept his eyes closed as he pressed his face into the blankets, enjoying their soft warmth as he curled up in them. He wondered if this was what it was like having someone in bed with you. If this was the warmth, the safety, the sweetness that everyone longed for.

He shifted against the blankets, his body pressing fully to them. He imagined it was Cho's body pressing back to his. He held the blankets tightly as he attempted to drift off to sleep.

He knew there was something that should be bothering him. Something that had been bothering him since the evening before. But in his early-morning mind he couldn't quite remember what it was, and the warm secureness of the blanket did its part in willing that away.

But he knew more sleep was a futile endeavor. The more coherent he became the more the pain returned. No, that thought was wrong. It wasn't the same pain. The pain had been mostly gone for a few days now, only appearing momentarily here and there. Often at the least convenient times, but still it wasn't the constant companion it had been for his first few days.

No, this was different. He stretched in bed, the blankets falling partially off of him, as it occurred to him just what it was. It was the general soreness of a good workout. It actually, once it occurred to him what it was, felt amazing.

He stretched his arms and legs, reveling in the feel of it, before a cool breeze blew through the open window. He sat up on the bed and turned to the table to grab his glass of water. Next to it, as there had been every morning he woke up, were two familiar potions. He peered at them for a moment.

The servings were smaller than normal. He didn't know if that was her way of being petty or if that meant that he needed less of it than before. He remembered thinking the last few days seemed like less as well. But this time he was certain of it.

It also annoyed him that she managed to get the potions into his room, every single morning, without waking him or him even noticing in the slightest. He'd never been a very sound sleeper. Living with the Dursley's had guaranteed that. It wasn't ever a good idea for his aunt to find him asleep. So usually the slightest noise woke him. But she managed to get in and out without him ever being the wiser.

He drank the potions, washing them down with the remainder of the water, before rising out of bed and moving toward his window. The actual logistics of the house still confused him. From how he got to his room inside he didn't think he should have a view overlooking the beach and the sea. But he did, and it was an amazing view.

The particulars about how he wound up on the island still bothered him. He tried to remember what happened that brought him here. He hadn't been entirely honest that he didn't remember anything. But it was certainly not anything that made any sense.

He remembered fighting Krum. He remembered somehow besting him. He remembered fury over what the quidditch star had done to his best friend. And he remembered channeling that into power. He knew he got hit by spells while they fought. But he pressed on. And eventually Krum was on the ground, and he was still standing.

He vaguely remembered walking through the maze in a haze, not really caring if he found the cup or the exit. Winning seemed less important to him at that point. Not important enough to give up, he realized. As he'd always had that out. But it wouldn't have bothered him had he turned a corner and aw the exit to the maze.

But he didn't. He found the cup instead. And he'd won. A brief sense of euphoria, of pride, flashed through him. But mostly it was just relief. He just wanted it all to be over. He'd reached for the cup, ready to get out of the maze.

And it did take him out of the maze. He'd barely managed to hold onto the Portkey as it threw him onto the ground. He hit something, a stone slab he thought. And he vaguely remembered a graveyard. It must have been a headstone. But after that everything went fuzzy.

He still has flashes of memory. He remembered something propping him up and cutting his arm. He remembered an angry hissing that the boy was injured and near death. The boy? That must have been him. He remembered a silver and blue crown glinting in the moonlight near a smoky alcove.

The only thing he could think of that would cause that was a potion mid brew. But he didn't remember seeing any more evidence of that. There were flashes here and there after that. A skittered hurrying of some sort. Perhaps a hissed argument. He didn't remember.

He came to a little later to chaos. He remembered screaming or squealing or something. There seemed to be fire around him. He heard a man begging for something, seeming shocked that he had to beg. And then Harry remembered nothing. His next memory was waking up on the Greek island, feeling like he'd been through hell.

He sighed as he stared out the window. The blank spaces in his mind were diminishing, he thought. Certain flashes seemed to make more and more sense with each passing day. He vaguely remembered Madame Pomfrey saying something about memory loss akin to sometimes they came back. His only recourse, he knew, was to simply keep trying to remember.

He tried to clear his head, to focus on the problems of the present rather than those of the past. He could feel the cooling comfort of the pain potion starting to take effect as his arms and legs started to feel less like jelly. He stretched more and started to dress.

He took a breath when he finished and something heavenly filled his nose. His eyes shot to his bedroom door as he inhaled deeply through his nose once more. It had to be, he thought, as his mouth started to water.

Harry practically ran to the kitchen, sliding on the polished floor through the open door. She'd called it modern once, in passing, but to him it felt slightly dated. He'd been a gracious enough guest to not point that out. But his aunt had newer appliances.

Then he saw her. She wore a simple dress as always, her reddish hair in a braid down her back. She wore no shoes or socks, and no jewelry of any description. She was standing at the stove, a frying pan before her making a familiar sizzling sound.

He knew they were fighting. No, that wasn't the right word. They weren't fighting. But she'd seemed disappointed in him at the end of the previous night. Something about their conversation hadn't gone well. There'd been a tension when she'd sent him to bed. But none of that mattered at the moment. Only one thing mattered.

"You found bacon?" he asked, breathlessly. He hated that he felt winded after such little effort. It wasn't like him. He'd never tired that easily. He'd have never lasted with Dudley would he. But his breathing leveled quickly and again he thought he felt almost back to normal.

"I did," she said without turning to face him.

"Where?" he asked. She paused, clearly contemplating her words carefully. It was a trait she had that he didn't recall ever quite seeing in another person. There were moments when he would have sworn she was talking to herself, or debating with herself, or something. It was more evident when looking at her, her eyes would zone out for a moment. It was rarely more than the briefest of instants. He wasn't even sure that she noticed when it happened. But he'd always been observant. And he could tell she was doing it now.

"I caught a wild pig in the forest," she said.

"There's wild pigs in the forest?" he asked.

"Oh yes," she said. "And I got up early and caught one this morning. I then went to town and met back up with our pretty little butcher, whose name is Cassandra by the way, you're welcome, and had her slaughter it up."

"She did that?" Harry sounded surprised.

"Of course she did it's her job. Anyway, she got me some of the bacon right away and is currently processing the rest of the pig. It might take her a bit, she seemed a little overwhelmed this morning," Emily said.

"It smells amazing," Harry said. He moved rather cautiously up next to her. She didn't seem to notice his presence as her floral scent mixed with that of the cooking bacon.

"How do you like it done?" she asked.

"A little crispier than that," he said.

"Okay," she said. She summoned a couple of eggs to her then and cracked them into another pan. In mere minutes, he found himself sitting at a table with a plate of eggs, toast, and bacon. He devoured the bacon so quickly that she started on another batch.

"Thank you," he said, doing his best impression of his friend Ron as he spoke through a mouth full of food.

"Swallow before you speak," she scoffed.

"Sorry," he said.

"Everything you missed?" she asked, gesturing to the plate before him. This time he did finish his mouthful, and took a sip of water, before responding.

"It's amazing," he said. "Thanks. Can I ask how you trap a pig?"

"Not much different than any other animal," she said, rather disdainfully. "And easy with magical aide. Just find something it likes to lure it somewhere and pounce when it's close."

"Good to know, I guess," Harry said as he ate his breakfast. She placed the new bacon down in front of him as soon as it finished.

"It's a solid strategy for nearly everything," she said. She then sat at the table and started to slice a peach, eating the slices as she cut them. Harry peered at her for a moment but kept eating. The silence grew uncomfortable, but while he focused on his food it wasn't too bad. The more he ate, though, the more he felt like he needed to say something. His mind seemed incapable of placing just what that something should be. When he finished eating he looked up at her.

"I was hungry," he said, staring down at the empty plate.

"That's good," she said. "Means your strength should return."

"I had an idea," Harry said. She raised her brows at him and took a bite out of a slice of peach. When he didn't continue she spoke up.

"And that is?" she asked.

"Well the ministry tracks magic. So if I cast a spell they should show up to expel me. Or at least send an owl. And if that's the case I can get a note to someone and be out of your hair," Harry said.

"By all means then," she said, finishing the peach.

"Oh, uhm, okay," he responded. He took out his wand, glad it had survived the trip to the island and held it up. "Lumos."

Harry let the magic radiate from the tip of his wand for a few moments before canceling the spell. He looked around the room, toward the windows, as if expecting owls to rush in. That didn't happen. "

"You don't seem to have any mail," the Sorceress said.

"Maybe it takes a while for them to get here?" Harry suggested.

"Or maybe the British Ministry doesn't have any authority in Greece. Or that the trace is put on locations so they can only tell where magic is used and not who used it," she responded.

"Oh," he said.

"I'm surprised you've not tried to cast a spell before that," she said.

"I'm not supposed to do magic outside of school," Harry said.

"And?" she asked.

"I didn't want to get in trouble?" he said.

"Well the trace is mostly just so Muggleborns don't do something stupid when they get home from school. In magic families it's on the parents to enforce it. In my experience some do, some don't," she said. "Given that I am the adult here. That leaves it up to me to punish you for such a grandiose and excessive use of magic."

"What?" he blinked as if he didn't quite follow all of that.

"Do the dishes so I don't have to," she said.

"I, uh, okay," he said. He stood and took his plate over toward the sink and started to wash it. She watched him from the table, eating a second peach while she did. When the plate was clean she waved her hand and it shot into an open cupboard.

"Come with me," she said, rising from the table and turning to leave the room. "And bring the peach pits."

"Uh okay," Harry said again. He gathered them up with some paper towel and followed her into her laboratory.

He'd seen into the room before but never bothered entering it. He could best describe it as organized chaos. But he knew that wasn't an apt description. Everything was perfectly organized. But there was just so much of it that it couldn't help but seem cluttered.

She started pointing out every detail of the room to him. His mind quickly becoming jumbled with an overload of information. It took her the better part of an hour to explain where everything was, what everything was, and why it was exactly where it was. He knew he'd never remember any of it. And that she'd harp on him for not knowing. When she finished with all of that she gestured to an open book on a table in the middle of the room.

"Make that potion," she said. And then she turned and left the room. Harry blinked a couple of times and then looked down at the text. It was in Greek. He blinked again and realized there were small, hand-written instructions in English next to it. The first thing he needed was the peach pits. He realized he was still holding onto them and tossed them into the cauldron before peering down at the other ingredients.

It was a complicated potion, more so than anything Snape had ever had them brew. By the third step he already felt behind. When there was finally a gap, five minutes of counter-clockwise stirring, he managed to peer up and around. One window peered out into the garden.

He saw her there, on the ground tilling at the soil, her hair matted back and her cheeks flushed with effort. He frowned down at the cauldron. Honestly, he'd have rather been out in the garden than in the lab. At least there he'd have some idea what he was doing.

She returned about twenty minutes later and inspected his work with a frown. She spent the next half hour lecturing him on what he did wrong and how to rectify it. But there wasn't any disdain in her voice. If anything he could sense that her annoyance was directed more at previous teachers than anything else.

"So why am I doing this?" he asked after she finished inspection the potion.

"If you're here you may as well learn something," she shrugged. "You can be done now."

"And do what then?" he asked.

"Whatever you like," she said. He nodded and left the lab.

That routine continued. By the end of the week he felt physically normal. Probably stronger than normal, really. Every morning she taught him something. Sometimes it was herbology, sometimes a potion, sometimes transfiguration. The lessons usually took a couple of hours. After that, he was free to do whatever he wanted.

At first he kept near to the villa. But he grew more adventurous and she never scolded him for it. By the second week he was visiting the town on a near daily basis. He couldn't help but stop in and speak to Cassandra. She seemed happier than when he'd first seen her. There was never any sign of the butcher while he visited.

That made her busier. But she still made time for Harry whenever he stopped by. She was smiley and warm, albeit rather quiet. But Harry didn't mind. They spent at least two evenings a week sitting down by the water sipping cold juice or warm wine. Emily never commented when he came home late. Although sometimes she did let him sleep in the morning after.

Their lessons continued, the days droned on. It was a nice island, Harry knew, but he didn't want to be there. He debated hopping on a ship and leaving, but there seemed to be very few that even came to the island. And the ones that went out fishing in the morning always came back in the evening.

June and July passed in a blur. On the final night of July he found himself walking in from the beach. He hadn't gone to town that day. He just hadn't felt up to seeing that many people or walking that far. Emily offered to Apparate him after that morning's potions lesson but he'd declined and relaxed in the sun instead. She brought him lunch out on the beach but other than that made herself scarce.

When he finally returned the house that evening he was rather shocked by the aroma that hit him. Emily waited in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on some type of chicken and potato dish he didn't recognize but that she hadn't made before. A treacle tart in a small glass display case rested on the middle of the table, next to a wrapped package.

"What's all this?" he asked.

"I know it's your birthday," she said. "You mentioned liking the tart so I tried to make one. And I think you'll like this."

"You didn't have to do that," he said.

"I know," she said. "But it's your birthday. So, Happy Birthday."

"Thanks," he said as she served the food. The ate mostly in silence. After he'd eaten half of the tart he turned his attention to the wrapped box.

"What's in that?" he asked.

"Just a little something," she shrugged. He raised his brows but unwrapped it slowly revealing an ornate wooden box. He opened that and peered inside. It contained a broomstick unlike any he'd ever seen before. It was more compact than his Firebolt and the wood and bristles both a darker tone than he was accustomed to. There was no branding on it at all.

"A broomstick?" he asked, staring down at it.

"Yes. I made it myself" she said. "You've talked about flying a lot and I've heard the island is beautiful by air. I'll teach you some disillusionment charms tomorrow and you should be fine around here."

"You made this?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "I'm not really sure if it'll be any good. But it will at least fly."

"I can't wait to try it out," he said.

"And I guess that gets us to the crux of the problem," the Sorceress sighed.

"The problem?" Harry asked, weighing the broomstick in his hands as he spoke.

"I haven't been entirely honest with you," she said.

"Really?" Harry commented. "I would have never guessed that."

"You could at least feign surprise," she said.

"Sorry," he said. "What are you lying to me about?"

"The island," she said, despite her first thought being simply everything.

"What about it?" he asked.

"There's powerful magic here. Ancient magic," she stood as she continued to speak, moving toward a book on the counter and returning to the table with it. "Magic does not leave this island."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Get five hundred meters or so off in any direction and it pulls you back. It feels suffocating as it does. But you always wind up back. There's runes in the basement of this home that have mostly faded away but were obviously for containment."

"So, the island is a prison?" Harry asked.

"Well, it was at some time," she said.

"To hold what?" Harry asked.

"Something long dead, I would assume," she said.

"How did you get here anyway?" he asked.

"Same as you. I wound up too close a few years ago and got pulled to it. When I saw you washed ashore and figured out who you were…I knew you'd be in the same boat as me," she sighed.

"So, I'm stuck here?" Harry said, anger rising in his voice.

"For now, I'm sorry to say that you are," she said.

"For now?" he countered.

"I've found a spell," she said, flipping over the book and sliding it across the table to him. He put the broom down and spun the book toward him. The spell was in Greek but she'd made English notations in the margins.

"Why haven't you used it yet?" he asked as he started to read. It was incredibly complicated and the gist of it was it would create a portal to someplace else. Harry could only decipher some of her notation.

"It's too complex for one witch," she said. "It takes a great deal of power."

"And you think the two of us could do it?" he asked.

"Not yet. No offense, but you're not strong enough yet. Wizards, I'm sure you know, strengthen with age. It would be best to wait until you're seventeen."

"Two years?" he scoffed.

"But," she continued. "I think by sixteen you'll be strong enough. You're certainly stronger than most. And with me picking up the slack."

"That confident in yourself?" he asked.

"Yes," she smirked, her lone dimple flashing as she did.

"Why are you telling me this now?" Harry asked.

"I figured you should at least have some clue as to why I'm bothering to teach you at all. And why I haven't come up with a better way to get you out of here. And I figured it's better to be cognizant of why you're pulled back to the island when you try to fly away tomorrow," she said.

"You think I'm going to try to fly away?" he asked.

"I'd be almost disappointed if you didn't," the Sorceress said.

"Flying to another island did occur to me," he admitted, looking back down at the broom.

"And now you know what to expect when you try it tomorrow," she said.

"So, I'm stuck here for at least a year?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "You're taking it better than I expected."

"Well, it's a nice island," Harry said, his voice a little stiff. She could tell he was coming to terms with it.

"And I don't think I'm the worst company," she said, smiling as innocently as possible.

"You're not bad," Harry blushed. She pouted.

"Oh fine, just keep visiting your little island trollop," she teased.

"The one that you keep telling me to go see?" he asked.

"Okay, fine, you win," she laughed.

"Thanks for the broom," he said after a few moments of silence.

"You're welcome," she said before excusing herself to bed. Harry sat at the table for a while, staring down at the broom. His mind filled with terror at his current situation. A terror he couldn't voice. A terror he couldn't even fathom how to approach.

Eventually, he knew that he wouldn't be able to accomplish anything past worry no matter how late he stayed awake. So he went to bed.

The next morning he did try to fly away on the broom. And, exactly like she said would happen, some unseen force pulled him back to the center of the island. She was waiting for him when he landed, wearing what she'd told him was a peplos. She looked sad when he landed. A frown on her face. But it didn't seem like she was upset with him. Instead she taught him the charms she said she would, and then sent him on his way.

At first he didn't know what to do with himself. Nothing really made sense. He kept to the same routine, his mind filled with thoughts of how he was losing a year of his life. How he was losing everything he knew and valued. How the island was stealing it from him.

Then it was September, and his mind was nothing but ideas of how he was missing out on school and how he missed his friends, and how he hated every moment of it. It was a rough month. The locals on the island seemed to sense his mood and stayed away from him. Even Cassandra winced away from him.

In October he made her cry. He didn't really know what caused it. But it made him realize that he'd been a bit of an ass the last few weeks. Or maybe he realized it before. But after he hugged her one day she ran away in tears.

Emily was positively unhelpful with that when he complained about it, telling him that he should attempt to figure it out with the girl, and not with her. Harry found that very useless advice.

But it occupied him until November. After that he started to figure it out. He couldn't really talk to her about it, talking ended poorly every time, with her uncomfortable and embarrassed and often fleeing. But he'd learned the ground rules.

He could take her hand, but only gently and never it if involved trying to lead her or pull her somewhere. No, if he presumed to move her she was out of his grasp in an instant. If he managed to hug her, it could only be loose, barely any pressure. He could kiss her, but only if she kissed him first.

It occupied him so much that he didn't even notice as November turned into December. When he thought about it, his only real thought was that he didn't particularly miss winter. He remembered people talking about how they enjoyed for distinct seasons. But he felt that opinion could be cleansed with a winter on a Greek island.

Christmas sneaked up on him. It was a quiet affair for them. Emily prepared a rather large dinner and Harry invited Cassandra over. They ate quietly and then Emily made herself scarce. Harry found himself on a couch in front of a dying fire, cuddled close to the young Greek.

She was warm and like most things on the island, smelled faintly of the sea. Her soft skin felt wonderful wherever it managed to touch his as they kissed on the couch. He marveled at her thick hair as his fingers weaved through it.

They kissed for some time until they simply lay close to each other. He was sure they each must have dozed off for a moment or two, but eventually, she quietly suggested moving to someplace more comfortable. Harry swallowed his nerves and led her to his bedroom.

He didn't know what he expected. Something more Hollywood perhaps? But what he got was a lot of confused blushing, bright eyes, excuses to go and brush teeth, and for something to wear. Regardless, eventually, he realized she looked much better in one of his t-shirts and a pair of his shorts than he could ever dream of.

After the confusion they lay silently on his bed, waiting. But neither of them had the courage to do more than wait until they both fell asleep. Their unconscious minds had other ideas, though. They woke spooning and neither of them wanted to leave that warmth. So they spent the morning together, afraid of what being apart could bring.

The situation repeated itself for the new year but with a change of venue. Emily gifted him a bottle of champagne and a couple of glasses when he'd told her of his plans. She'd seemed disappointed, for the briefest of moments, before wishing him a wonderful evening.

He'd met her at the shop. She was behind on her daily work and looking flustered, as if she'd forgotten they'd agreed to meet. He just put the champagne down on the counter and asked what he could do to help.

She'd blinked at him, an expression he recognized easily enough. She couldn't fathom that someone wanted to actually help with her chores. But she told him to wipe down the counter and so he did. She watched intently as he did the chore, he recognized the look of someone who wanted to make sure it was done correctly. Eventually, though, she decided he was doing a good enough job and continued with her work.

Once he'd finished that chore she'd found another one for him to complete, and then another, until the work in the shop was done. He didn't have the courage to ask about her missing uncle. He thought if she wanted to talk about it she would have brought it up.

After that, she locked the shop and guided him up a small hill to the residential area of town. She brought him to a small house and led him inside. The furnishings were shabby and sparse but it looked like she kept everything neat and tidy. Except for a bedroom and a small office she didn't seem interested in entering or acknowledging. And Harry didn't comment.

Instead they drank at the table, peering out the small window through a gap in two other buildings and down at the harbor. She moved a chair next to his and they both drank in silence as the time ticked away.

She played with his fingers on the table for a few moments, or ran her fingers up his arm, or leaned close to him. But they didn't really talk until after they kissed to celebrate the coming of January.

She asked him to stay the night and he accepted without any other thought. This time was slightly less awkward. When they overcame their nerves and crawled into her small bed they had no choice but to lay close to each other. Harry took a deep breath and then a leap of faith as he put an arm around her, loosely. She responded by shifting closer to him, burying her face in his chest.

They woke like that in the morning. She kissed him and then insisted that she had to return to the shop for the day. He knew better than to argue. As he walked back to Emily's villa, he thought of how much of a difference a year could make. And then it dawned on him that he only had half of one left before he could leave the island.

But the island wasn't that bad, he immediately argued with himself. He was still learning magic and he had far more freedom that he could have ever imagined having outside of the island. And there was a pretty Greek girl that he rather enjoyed spending time with.

And so he spent January with Cassandra. He'd stop by the shop and help out in afternoons so they could do something in the evening, he'd pick flowers for her, take her to dinner, bring her lunch on busy days, and really revel in her company.

They spent the night together usually at least once a week. More often at her house than Emily's. He got the feeling Cassandra wasn't overly comfortable in Emily's home. And it was a fairly long walk, so he didn't press the issue. Emily herself never commented one way or the other, although he did suspect she knew his whereabouts more often than she let on.

Usually he'd visit her in the shop in the morning, during the slow hour in the late morning. Sometimes she'd invite him over that evening. Occasionally she'd offer to cook for him as well.

And that was what she did one night in early February. Harry thought nothing of it at the time and agreed immediately. It was a little odd that she didn't want him to meet her at the shop for closing. She insisted that whatever she was going to make would take a while and he should just come over a little later than usual.

He obeyed. And when she answered the door he was fairly surprised to find her in what looked like a new green dress. Cassandra wasn't a very large girl but the dress appeared to have been tailored to her and complimented her form well. Harry had to pry his eyes from the plunging neckline at least twice.

She'd styled her hair as well, some of it was up in an elaborate braid, while the rest fell down her back in soft curls.

She'd made a moussaka and had set the table with the fanciest plates she owned and lit a bunch of candles. She took the wine he'd brought and opened it, pouring two glasses before they sat at the table and ate.

He'd asked what the occasion was, but she'd just blushed and muttered that there wasn't anything special on her mind. She'd just wanted to do something nice, she'd said. And Harry knew better than to argue.

He cleaned up when they were done. She'd made him a container of leftovers and put it into the fridge. And then she turned to him and asked him if he wanted to spend the night.

Of course, he said immediately. She normally didn't ask. Normally they just made out for a while and then wound up holding each other in bed.

She nodded when he agreed and led him to her bedroom. It felt awkward as she disappeared into the bathroom. But he just assumed it was his nerves. So after a deep breath and a sip from the glass of water she kept on her bedside table he stripped down to his undershirt and boxers and lay on her bed.

Cassandra stepped into her room from the bathroom. She wore a translucent white nightgown and as she flipped the lights off it seemed to glow around her in the moonlight filtering into her room.

The gown left nothing to the imagination. Harry could see all of her through the thin fabric. She'd never worn anything close to it in his presence. She walked slowly to the bed, swaying her hips slightly and then crawling into both the bed and his lap.

They kissed. She put her arms around him and so he wrapped his around her. They kissed for a while, until they were both flushed and panting. Harry froze as she pulled her lips from his, her eyes focused onto his.

She stared into his eyes. Confusion on her face. Harry pressed his lips together, wondering what she expected of him, wondering what she expected of him, what he should do. But he froze. He just looked at her, his fingers digging into her hips. She bit her bottom lip and pressed her body experimentally to his. He felt every inch of her, he felt surrounded by her. But still he didn't know how to react.

She took a deep, steadying breath before sliding her hands over his chest and down toward his waist and to the waist of his underwear. And then her hand was around him, holding him.

His instincts took over at that point. He kissed her and she giggled against his lips as she squeezed him. After more kissing he tugged at her gown until she was free of it, and she did the same to his clothing.

And then he lay her on the bed, his lips never leaving hers as they shared each other for the first time.

After she seemed surprised when he still wanted to hold her and cuddle. But after her initial tension faded she relaxed into him and they fell asleep.

Cassandra was already dressed and ready for the day when she woke him the next morning. She kissed him and said he was welcome to stay until he was more awake but she was going to the shop. He kissed her back and said he should head home anyway.

She didn't invite him back that week. Although she still looked happy to see him whenever he stopped by. But something felt off.

He couldn't help but wonder if he'd been terrible. He'd been so absorbed in the moment that he wondered if he'd failed in some way. He tried to trace her reactions, to see if there was something out of place. She'd been quiet the entire time, but he hadn't thought she looked like she wasn't enjoying it.

But then after she was brusque with him and he didn't know why. And he didn't know how to bring it up with her. He wanted to do it again, but he thought that telling her that would be the wrong move. He wanted to invite her over, but again, he didn't know what she would expect or how she would take it. Mostly, he just wanted to be nearer to her again.

He tried to go to Emily for advice, but in hindsight, opening the conversation with, 'Hey Emily, you've had sex, right?' wasn't the correct way to go about it. Although it was worth it for her expression. Even if she didn't offer him any sort of advice or answer the question.

That brought more interesting questions to the forefront of his mind. But they were ones that he knew were better if he didn't focus on them.

At the start of the next week he picked some wildflowers on his way to town. He was procrastinating, mostly, as Emily had taken to giving him shopping lists for his trips. He turned them into a sloppy bouquet and conjured a vase and water as he finished the walk.

Cassandra smiled brightly at him as he entered the shop and put the flowers on prime display. They talked while she packaged up his order and she told him to stop by that evening when he left.

He felt a hundred pounds lighter as he walked back to the villa. Emily noticed during their lesson, he could tell by her expression. But she didn't say anything. It wasn't until he was leaving that she told him to go slow and pay attention to what she liked. He flushed crimson and fled.

He didn't have to worry about Emily's advice. She'd crawled into his lap and took control immediately and he didn't mind in the least.

March and April continued that way. Cassandra showed him more of the island, some of her favorite spots, and introduced her to some of her friends. And he spent many more evenings with her. It was easily the most blissful spring of his life.

And then in May she left and it broke his heart.

It wasn't really her choosing. In hindsight he was surprised she got away with it as long as she did. But eventually family figured out her Uncle was gone and came to take her to the mainland.

He wondered if he'd have been able to keep up the charade as long as she had. But thinking about that just made him miss her even more. She filled his thoughts at all sorts of times that it became distracting. He'd lose focus in lessons, he struggled sleeping and he spent days not wanting to do anything.

Two or three times he thought Emily was going to snap at him about it. But she held her tongue which made him feel worse. He knew he shouldn't be sulking as much as he was, but he just couldn't help it.

One night toward the end of the month he found himself again unable to sleep. It was four fifteen in the morning when he finally gave up trying. He threw the blankets off of himself and wandered the house until he wound up sitting on a balcony, looking out at the stars.

About ten minutes later he heard soft footsteps behind him. Emily walked out onto the balcony and tossed a carton at him. He caught it on instinct, the coolness surprising him, and turned his eyes down to it.

"Chocolate?" he asked as she handed him a spoon. She wore pajama pants and a tank top and her auburn hair was pulled back into a pony tail.

"Unless you'd rather have the raspberry sorbet," she said, holding up her own carton.

"They'd probably mix pretty well," he said, pulling the top off of the carton and taking a spoonful. The chocolate warmed him despite the coolness of the treat.

"True," she responded, opening her own and sitting next to him on the couch. They didn't really talk after that. After a few bites she took a spoonful of his and then tried to fence his spoon away when he went to do the same. He won the battle though.

They ate and fought for ice cream for the next couple of minutes. He continued to stare off at the sea. After a while he felt a warm weight on his shoulder. He peered over and saw her mass of red-brown hair resting on his shoulder. He let her rest there for a few more spoons of ice cream.

After that he put the top back on his carton and laid her down on the couch. He took the carton from her fingers and topped it before taking her spoon. He used magic to clean the spoons and return them to their cupboard before summoning a blanket to her and lay it over her. Then he went to bed.

Things improved after that. Sure, town lost its appeal, but Emily kept him busy with new spells and magic. He still wandered down and did the shopping because it got him out. But there was just something missing every time he did. And he quickly found himself back at the villa.

When May ended his thoughts focused less on Cassandra. But a sense of ennui returned from realizing he should be finishing another year of Hogwarts. He didn't know what Fifth year would have brought. Part of him thought he learned more in a year with a private tutor than he would have at school. But he had no way of confirming if that was true or not.

June brought another realization though. It came as he reflected back on how weak he'd felt when he got there. He was anything but weak now. All the walking, hiking, and flying had done him good. When he looked in the mirror now, he actually liked what he saw. It surprised hadn't even really been aware that he hadn't liked how he looked until, suddenly, he did. If he thought about it, he'd probably just assumed that there was truth to the taunts the Dursley's threw at him. But now, almost two years from their last influence on him, he'd pushed them so far from his thoughts. It was refreshing.

July ended with a small party for him. Sixteen, he thought idly as he lay in bed. But that just made his thoughts turn to Ron and Hermione. He'd thought of them less and less as the time passed. But it sent a fresh pang through him, his heart aching in his chest. Tears came, but so did sleep.

August fourth was the date. She'd told him in the morning. He'd hesitated and that reaction caught her off guard. She'd told him it could wait, if he wanted. But his resolve hardened immediately. The fourth would work. He'd just need to know what to do.

It ended up being less glamorous than he'd hoped. She needed a battery, essentially. He frowned when she told him. She'd crossed her arms over her chest and snapped that if he wanted to spend two more years there she could teach him the hard parts. And he decided being a battery was fine.

They sat close to each other on the sandy beach outside the villa. She held his hands, closed her eyes, and started chanting in Greek. And then, he experienced something he couldn't quite describe.

It was like they were together. Suddenly the Greek made perfect sense as she chanted. He could make out her words of wishing to be away from the place, of wishing to be back at home, of wishing to be where the happiness was. Of returning him to his home.

He could feel her focus. He could sense her thoughts as they fought to control the spell she was channeling. He could sense her correcting herself, adjusting herself, keeping the spell active.

And then he felt her magic. He felt her power and it felt almost limitless. He could sense it slowly fading from her and he used the spell she taught him to channel some of his into her. It seemed to have very little effect but he just kept doing it, feeling his power leaving him slowly and feeling like he wasn't having the effect he'd hoped.

And then he felt something above him. He looked up and just feet above their head was a small orb, places flashing through it. He thought he caught glimpses of islands, and London, and Hogwarts. Hogwarts! He focused on Hogwarts and the orb seemed to focus as well. But the castle flashed through different stages above him. He tried to picture it exactly like he remembered. He tried to focus on that as he pressed more power into her. The orb grew and grew until it was almost touching them. His vision was blurring and his head throbbing as he felt his magic leaving him rapidly.

And then it was done. He knew it was done because she knew it was done. He looked up and saw Hogwarts above him but he could feel the power in the orb fading. She nodded and helped him to his feet. They just had to float through it and they would be off the island.

Harry could feel her relief at the concept of being off of the island. He looked around the island one last time as he started to move toward the portal. His last thought, before he felt himself enter it, visions of Hogwarts filling his mind, was that it really wouldn't have been that bad of a place to grow up.

When he came to he was laying on a beach.

"This is not Hogwarts," he said, frowning as he sat up. Emily was already on her feet, dusting the sand off of her and looking around, a confused expression on her face.

"It is not," she said, reaching down to help him up. "But it's also not the same island. And we haven't been pulled back."

"How can you tell?" he asked.

"Look around," she said. He did and quickly realized she was right, the island was smaller, he could see the entire length of it, and an overgrown stone path led up a small hill. He started walking up the path.

"Have you been here before?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said, following him.

"I think there's someone on top of the hill," he said. Emily froze.

"Oh," she said. She ducked behind a tree, pressing her body to it. Harry turned and looked at her, then looked back at the person at the top of the hill.

It was a young girl, perhaps five or six. She wore a white dress of sorts and had long red hair with a gold net weaved into it. She had bright gold eyes that seemed to project the sun when he focused on them. It was almost blinding. She wore gold bangles on each of her wrists.

The girl was oblivious to their presence. She was humming herself while moving her right hand in circles as she focused on the ground. Moments later a flower bloomed and rose from the dirt beneath her. She giggled and did it again.

Harry found himself so engrossed in her magic as he peered out at her from behind Emily's tree that he didn't even notice the man approach.

"What are you doing little lady?" he asked in Greek, Harry thought, although it seemed to be a different dialect than what he was familiar with. The man was tall and thin and dressed in a black robe and black pants. He had short black hair and he walked with no sense of urgency as he moved toward the girl.

"Nothing," the girl said, blushing and hiding her hands behind her back.

"That doesn't look like nothing," the man said, gesturing to the flowers. He lowered himself to them and examined them.

"That wasn't me," she said. It was an obvious lie.

"That's a shame," the man said. "They're very good."

"You think so?" she asked. Harry recognized the desperate need for approval in her voice.

"Yes," he said. "Can you do another one?"

"Okay," she responded. She brought her hands out again and waved them slowly. Another flower sprouted from the dirt.

"Very nice," he said.

"Thank you," she said. "Daddy says I shouldn't do it in front of people."

"And where is your father?" he asked.

"Over there," she said, gesturing vaguely toward the sun.

"I see," the man said.

"Can you do this too?" she asked as she made another flower sprout.

"Yes," he said.

"Prove it," she responded, eyeing him as if she didn't believe him. The man just smirked at her and, without moving, a ten foot circle around them bloomed into an elaborate, organized flower garden.

"Wow," the girl said.

"It's fun, isn't it," he said.

"I think so," she said. "But they get mad at me when I do it too much."

"Well that's not nice of them. It's a skill that requires practice. What's your name, little lady?"

"Kiki," she said.

"Nice to meet you Kiki, I'm Seth," he said, offering his hand to her. She looked curiously at him but took it for a moment.

"Nice to meet you too," she said.

"Would you like to come with me and learn more magic like that?" he asked.

"I shouldn't," she said. But she took a step closer to him as if she'd already made a decision.

"He's going to abduct her," Harry said, moving toward the man and the girl. "We have to stop him."

"We can't," she said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back to the tree.

"Emily," he hissed. "We can't just let him take her."

"We have to," she hissed back. He turned his gaze from the man and child to her. Her expression stopped him cold. There was fear in her eyes. No, it was more than fear, it was sheer terror. And somehow, he knew the only action she'd be able to take would be to stop him from going near the man and girl.

A small popping noise brought his attention back to the man and the girl. But when he turned to look in their direction there was no sign of them, even the flowers had vanished. He felt the fury rise up in him, the annoyance at his own inaction. He knew, deep down, his inaction had condemned that little girl to her fate.

He turned his gaze back to Emily, knowing full well his expression was all he needed to ask the questions dancing on the tip of his tongue.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit.

Acknowledgements: Rpeh on the beta work.

Chapter 4

"What the hell!" Harry yelled as the man and the girl vanished from sight.

"Calm down," Emily said as she let go of his wrist. She was rather pleased to notice that he shook it out after and that there was already a dark purple bruise forming. Perhaps a little more had carried over than she'd first expected.

"We can't just let that happen. You have no idea what that man could want with that girl!" Harry yelled. Emily snorted. It was undignified, but she couldn't help it.

"I know exactly what that man wanted with that girl," she scoffed.

"That makes it worse!" he yelled.

"Calm down, we couldn't have stopped him anyway," she said.

"We're both magical!" he countered.

"So is he," she responded.

"You can't know that. We may have been able to beat him. Or scare him off. Or do anything to save the girl," he argued.

"No," she said as sternly as she could muster. "He would have destroyed us."

"You can't know that," he argued again.

"And you can't know anything about them," she said. "How do you know he isn't saving the girl from a worse life?"

"You can't know that either," he countered.

"Yes, I can," she said.

"How?" he asked.

"Because I know, alright?" she snapped.

"No!" Harry said. "It's the complete opposite of alright! We have to go after them or something."

"Well that's pointless. They're long gone by now," a man's voice said from behind them. Harry whirled around to face the source of the words and stopped in his tracks. The man was taller than him by a couple of inches. He wore dark clothing and had black hair, longer than it had been moments before when he'd kidnapped the girl, and blue eyes that seemed to stare off into space. He only spared a momentary glance at Harry.

"Who…How?" Harry asked, reaching for his wand.

"Hello Kairkay. Nice to see you. Although I hate what you've done with your hair, eyes, face, chest, and hips," the man said. He waved a hand in her general direction, gesturing to each part of her that he mentioned.

"But you still like my feet," Emily said dryly, crossing her arms across her chest and looking rather annoyed. But there was a familiarity there, a joke between old friends, something that Harry didn't know the true meaning of, but that despite the negativity, drew a smile out of her.

"Can't comment, haven't seen them yet," he said without missing a beat.

"It's good to see you again, Seth," she said. Harry could sense a tension in her voice, something cutting through familiarity. As if they hadn't parted on the best of terms.

"You too," he said. "Although you should have kept the eyes."

"Who's Kair…key?" Harry asked, interjecting out of annoyance.

"What's this?" Seth asked, peering at Harry. "A stray?"

"Something like that," Emily responded.

"Someone answer a damn question," Harry said.

"It's my name," the Sorceress responded. "But he's saying it the old way."

"Oh, so he's one of those barbarians that thinks it is pronounced Sursey?" Seth said. "It's enough that they ruined perfectly good language already they could have at least kept the old pronunciations."

"Sur Say?" Harry asked.

"Circe," Emily corrected. She braced herself for the outburst she fully expected to follow.

"Why would you tell me your name was Emily then? What's it matter if you're named after some Greek witch?" Harry said, sounding confused.

"I miss Latin," Seth said, absently.

"I'm not named after anyone," Emily countered. "And Greek is better."

"No, it isn't," Seth said.

"When even are you?" Emily sighed, changing the conversation. Seth looked around and then looked up at the sky. He held up a hand and the stars appeared, contrasted an odd glowing green against the blue sky. He examined them for a moment before answering.

"Well after this," he said. He then looked at Emily and the sky returned to normal. "But still quite a bit before that I think."

"Helpful," Emily said. "What brings you here?"

"A hunch," he said. "And I always liked this island at this time. Your father enchanted it for you. The serenity is soothing."

"Surely you could mimic that anywhere," she said.

"Or I could just come here," he shrugged. The word father rang through Harry's head though.

"Wait! You kidnapped a little girl!" Harry yelled.

"I did," Seth said. Emily shifted uncomfortably behind him, running a hand through her hair as she did.

"What did you do with her!" Harry said. He tried his best to keep his voice level. But something about a little girl being taken from her home infuriated him.

"I'll tell you what. I'll answer three questions from you. If you'd like to waste one on that, tell me now," Seth said, smirking. Harry paused, sensing a trap and turned his gaze to Emily.

"For what it's worth, he's one of the most honest people I know," Emily said. "And the best sorcerer I ever knew."

"You're too kind," Seth said.

"I don't even know what he would know," Harry said.

"So when presented with a choice you're suddenly less concerned with the girl," Seth said.

"I," Harry started.

"Oh, it's fine she's fine anyway. Even if she decided to get rid of her best features," Seth said.

"I assure you it wasn't intentional," Emily scoffed in obvious annoyance.

"How?" Harry gasped as it dawned on him what must have happened. But it couldn't have happened. That didn't make sense. That was impossible.

Except it wasn't impossible. He'd done it before. Just on an amazingly smaller scale. At least if he was correct. And somehow, he knew he was.

"I would assume you used some sort of spell and it didn't have the quite the effect you were hoping for," Seth said.

"Ulysses Portals," Emily said. "Ironic, I know, but it seemed a fitting way to actually get me off Aeaea."

"Well you are not on Aeaea," Seth said.

"I gathered that. I am also not in England," she responded.

"England? Why would you want to go there? It rains constantly and is infested with miserable people who think warm beer is palatable. The islands are much better. But stock up on some wine from the dirty Gauls before coming back," Seth said.

"Greek wine is better than French. But more importantly, can you still not hold your alcohol?" Emily asked. Seth just glared at her so she continued. "And I'm indifferent on England. I just promised Harry I'd get him home."

"And that was your focus while you cast the spell?" Seth said.

"Yes," Emily said.

"Not mine," Harry countered.

"But I told you to think of home!" Emily said.

"Well I did. But I thought that the island wouldn't have been a bad place to grow up. And where you grew up," Harry said.

"And so you wound up where they stashed her while her brother and sister were being especially horrible and her father didn't feel like dealing with her while she grew up," Seth said.

"Well we can just do it again and get to England then," Harry said.

"I wouldn't recommend that," Seth said.

"It's designed to show paths home," Emily said. "If we keep opening portals it will just keep putting forth different opportunities."

"So, we're stuck here?" Harry asked.

"Maybe," Seth said. "But it's more likely that other portals will present themselves to you. Time magic is weird. I wouldn't ever advise anyone using it."

"Well I didn't want to," Emily scoffed. "I just wanted off the island."

"And took an interesting way to go about that," Seth said.

"Well, it worked, didn't it?" Emily said, crossing her arms over her chest and looking rather annoyed at being questioned.

"Did it?" Seth asked.

"I'm here, aren't I?" she said.

"Sure," Seth commented. "But you just saw you. And when you were you were you stuck on Aeaea?"

"That almost made sense," Emily scoffed.

"No," Harry said. "It did."

"What?" Emily snapped.

"Right now we predate whatever magic was keeping us there," Harry said. "I'm assuming it was put into place when you were…imprisoned…there."

"Hey would you look at that, the stray is intelligent," Seth said.

"Great," Emily said. "So, whenever we wind up where the magic exists, we're going to be stuck on Aeaea…with me."

"Maybe," Seth said.

"It pulled me from…" Emily paused, pressing her lips together as if she didn't want to finish that sentence aloud.

"The spell you used tends to put the users at spots where they have to learn something or discover something that will let them move on. It doesn't always…well that's not fair…it rarely ever makes sense at the time. Sometimes it even seems paradoxical. But again, time magic," Seth said with a shrug of his shoulders as if that was a passable explanation. Harry could sense that he was going to start lecturing in a moment. Apparently Emily did as well as she interrupted him.

"So why here?" she asked.

"It's the last time we were both on this island. And I often returned here to look at your flowers," Seth said.

"So?" Emily asked.

"I'm me," Seth said with the same shrug as a few moments prior. "You said Aeaea?"

"I did," Emily said. He moved a few feet to his left, but Harry didn't actually see him take a step or move at all. He waved a hand over the two of them and Harry felt a chill shoot through him. But after a moment he felt completely normal.

"Well that's done," Seth said.

"What's done?" Harry asked.

"I went to Aeaea, examined the runes in the villa, and figured out how to mask both of you," Seth said.

"There's no way you weren't even gone," Harry said.

"Well for you I wasn't. For me I was gone for four days. Although I did…you know what not important. I think I'll go back and figure out how to break the enchantment now. But that won't help you until whenever you catch up with me," Seth said.

"Couldn't you get us out of here then, if you could do all that?" Harry asked.

"I already answered three questions from both of you," Seth said.

"What?" Harry blinked. "No you didn't."

"And anyway, you have bigger things to worry about. Like that chariot that's approaching. I'm pretty sure one of you really doesn't want to meet whomever is in that right now," Seth said.

"We need to get out of here," Emily said, again looking slightly panicked.

"Relax," Seth laughed. "He doesn't come looking for you for a few hours. He's just showing off right now. I never tried myself but I imagine a magical fiery chariot is a good way to woo local lasses."

"I really don't like this," she said, her cheeks flushing red and she eyed something far away in the sky that Harry couldn't see.

"Well, I would have suggested staying on your island and figuring out how to get rid of the magic," Seth said.

"I spent a very long time doing that," Emily said. "And I came up with nothing."

"And was your disappearance part of that?" Seth asked.

"Did you come looking for me?" Emily asked.

"Once or twice," Seth said. "I made it to Aeaea once. But you weren't there. All I managed to find was that hawk tiara I gave you for your fifteenth birthday."

"That still wasn't a funny gift," Emily said.

"Sure it was," Seth responded.

"How many of us are left, anyway?" Emily asked. Harry couldn't help but feel slightly jealous that he answered more than three of her questions. But he supposed that he was just being annoyed that he had no idea what they were talking about. Something stuck in his head though. And it felt like she was changing the subject to pull his attention away from something Seth had mentioned.

"A handful," Seth said. "I don't have the exact number. You know how they pop up here and there. Sometimes you'll think one is gone and then a century later you run into each other at a market."

"I do," she said. "Anyone I remember?"

"By my time? A few." Seth said.

"Like?" she asked.

"Well Hades and Persephone are still as saccharine as ever," Seth shrugged.

"Seriously? It's been millennia," Emily frowned.

"I haven't bothered to check on Vulcan, Oceanus and Poseidon killed each other. The rest fell at various times doing variously stupid things largely because of their varying indifference to mortals. Hestia's still alive. She's taken to creating a restaurant empire," Seth said.

"She likes mortals now?" Emily asked, sounding surprised by that development.

"She likes anyone who enjoys good food," Seth responded.

"Is my father still alive?" she asked

"No," Seth said. "None of your direct family is."

"How?" she asked.

"Mixed reports," Seth said. "I sort of assumed you had something to do with it," Seth said.

"Well that's nice of you," Emily responded dryly.

"Hey, it smelled like you. And can you think of a better suspect?"

"No," Emily sighed. "But it wasn't me."

"If you insist," Seth said.

"Can someone please explain to me what I'm missing?" Harry asked.

"I think the two of you are overdue for a long talk," Seth said.

"We need to get off this island," Emily said.

"You need to pay attention better," Seth said, he started digging in his pockets.

"What now," Emily scoffed.

"There's another of those portals down on the beach," Seth said. Emily's glance shot immediately back down the path. Harry turned completely and stepped toward the edge of the hill. Sure enough another pale blue portal floated below them.

"I don't think we should go near that," Harry said.

"Then enjoy the past," Seth said. He pulled a small bronze object from his pocket and tossed it to Emily. She caught it and examined it.

"A key?" she asked.

"I'm feeling generous," Seth said. "Fifteen Maitland road. And good luck to both of you."

"Thanks," Harry responded on instinct. But his words didn't matter. When he turned his attention back to the man, he was gone. Only he and Emily remained on the island. She started to walk toward the beach and he followed her, unsure of what else to do.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked as they approached the beach.

"No," she laughed. "But what else are we going to do. Sit around here for three thousand years?"

"Three…thousand?" Harry blinked.

"Best guess," she said, pacing around the portal. It seemed to have its own gravity, as her hair was being pulled toward it as if there was a stiff breeze.

"Just…what…are you?" he asked. Emily turned to him, her hair being pulled back toward the portal as she started to step backwards toward it.

"Follow me and I'll tell you," she said as her body entered the glowing blue portal. She vanished from sight. Harry took a deep breath and stepped through. He felt the magic close around him as he entered. The first time it had felt like he'd been falling. This time it was just a step, and then he was somewhere else.

His first thought was that it was considerably colder. His second was that it was raining. He groaned as the icy water felt like it was piercing to his core. His third was that it was now nighttime. He turned and looked for Emily. He saw her a few feet away, under an awning, peering at something.

But that wasn't what caught his attention. Although he did start to walk over toward her, his eyes widened as he realized where he was. Sure, he didn't recognize the specific street, but the city had similar enough features, down to the familiar street lamps piercing through the dark of night. He was in London! His entire body swelled with excitement as he gazed around the city.

"Don't get too excited," Emily said gesturing to something in front of her.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Look," she said, gesturing to what he realized was a discarded paper. Harry walked over and looked at the headline. It was enough to answer his question, but he looked down at the date on it as well.

"Nineteen thirty-six?" he frowned.

"Right island, wrong decade," Emily frowned.

"Shit," Harry sighed. "What now?"

"You wouldn't happen to know of a Maitland Road would you?" she asked. Something swirled in her head as she said it. But she couldn't quite figure out what it was. It was like having a word on the tip of her tongue. The feeling of being entirely positive about something but unable to put it into words.

"No," Harry frowned.

"We need to find a place to stay," she said.

"Last time we didn't stay long," Harry said, ducking under the awning and out of the rain.

"Yes," she responded. "But we have no idea if that will be a consistent theme."

"Well, any suggestions?" Harry asked. He gazed around the gloomy evening, the rain causing evening fog on the streets. He examined the old buildings around them. Nothing looked familiar to him. There were a few closed storefronts lining the street. Down the way he saw a fenced off building that looked vaguely like a school.

"I've never been here," she said. "It's your home town."

"In half a century," Harry countered. "And I'm from Surrey!"

"You are very unhelpful," she said.

"Perhaps I can help?" A man said. Harry turned and saw a policeman pacing down the street. Emily smiled at him, brushing her hair over her shoulder.

"Do you know a Maitland Road?" she asked.

"Three streets over," the man said, gesturing to his left.

"Thank you," Emily said sweetly, flashing her one dimpled smile. "Sorry to be such a bother."

"No problem, Ma'am. Be best to get out of the rain," the officer said before continuing on his way. Emily started walking in the direction the man indicated and Harry followed. A few moments later he noticed the officer followed as well.

"He's following us," Harry said quietly as they followed the man's directions.

"Of course he is," Emily said. "It's late and we're suspicious. And our clothing would certainly seem odd to him."

"I don't like being followed," Harry said.

"I don't blame you, but we appear to be almost there," Emily responded, her eyes gazing up at the numbers on the doors as she turned down the third street they came to. The officer followed them but Emily ignored him. About halfway down the street they found number fifteen. It was a modest looking two-story building.

Emily stepped up to the door and opened it with the key, stepping in without further comment. Harry did his best to ignore the officer as he followed her into the house, locking the door behind him.

The salty scent of the sea greeted him as he turned around. It was odd for an indoor dwelling. He pushed that thought from his head as Emily stepped out of the entryway.

His next thought was that the interior did not match the exterior. The proportions were off. It took too many steps to get through the entry way. And then the massive library he noticed at the end of it was obviously out of place.

"What is this?" Harry asked.

"Seth was never one for subtlety," Emily said. "Then again I doubt he ever entertained so he'd never have to explain it."

"How?" Harry asked.

"Surely you've been in a magical dwelling before," Emily said. "Even mine was bigger on the inside."

"But…" Harry said, gazing around rooms that were at least the size of what the house should have been.

"Don't look in the garden if that's bothering you so much," Emily laughed gesturing toward what he assumed was the kitchen. Harry turned and stepped into that room. It was indeed a kitchen, although the assortment of appliances all seemed from the wrong era, although he fully admitted he wasn't up to par on nineteen thirty kitchenware. But that only distracted him for a moment.

Instead he saw an open French door leading out to a warm beach. The smell of salt-water suddenly became apparent as he stepped onto the cool sand. While it had been raining in London, there was no sign of it on the beach. He gazed around, trying to figure out just where he could be when Emily laughed from behind him.

"Where is this?" he laughed.

"Nowhere," Emily said. "He probably just made it."

"How?" Harry asked.

"Almost anything is possible with enough patience, Harry," Emily said.

"But, we're inside and," he shook his head. While he hadn't seen magic of that nature. It really shouldn't have surprised him. He knew from the World Cup that living spaces could be enlarged. But he'd thought that magic was incredibly difficult to maintain for an extended period. And from the look of it, this had been in place for a very long time. He took a deep breath and steadied himself.

"This is nuts," Harry said as everything started to occur to him in rapid succession. Just today he'd been in the nineties, the thirties, and pre-antiquity. That shouldn't be possible. But it had to be, because it happened. He stepped toward one of the lounging chairs on the beach and leaned against the back of it to steady himself.

"And I believe you had questions you wanted to pose to me," she said.

"I did," Harry said.

"Would you mind terribly if I asked one first?" she asked.

"I guess not," Harry said, resisting the temptation to tell her that she already had.

"What's your poison?" she asked.

"Huh?" he responded, but it clicked a minute later. "Oh I've only ever had wine and champagne."

"Let's go back into the kitchen, uncork one, and talk then," she said.

"Okay," he replied and followed her. There were three chairs at the table in the kitchen. Harry pulled out the lone one on the side and sat in it while Emily examined the wine. She picked out a bottle of French white, making a face at it, and poured two glasses. She set one on the table near him before finding an ornate silver bucket and filling it with ice. She put the bottle in it and walked with it and her glass over to the table. Harry watched her, thinking she seemed far too familiar with her surroundings.

"Well?" she asked as she sat at the table. She pulled her hair out of the braid and shook it out, letting the auburn locks fall down her back.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Circe," she said.

"_The_ Circe?" he asked.

"I assume that what they said about me after, what they did to my memory, made it a rather uncommon name," she responded.

"Why Emily?" he asked.

"I didn't want to scare you," she said too quickly. "I assumed the stigma with the name would be there."

"Yet you picked the one name that could send a shiver up my spine," Harry said.

"Bad luck," she shrugged and looked away from him, hiding her expression by sipping her wine.

"So, you're the Goddess of Magic?" he asked.

"Now that's complicated," she sighed.

"Isn't it a yes or no question?" he asked.

"It depends on your opinion of divinity. But as a whole I would say no. My mother, Hecate, is more often given the title that you asked for," she paused as she finished speaking. The words felt wrong on her tongue. An argument was starting in her memories. She drank more wine hoping it would go away.

"Is she still alive?"

"No. She's been gone for a very long time," she said.

"How does that even work? Aren't Gods supposed to be immortal?" Harry asked.

"Again, that depends on your definition of mortality," Emily said.

"You're not really making any sense," he responded.

"I know. I'm sorry. It's…well, witches and wizards have existed for as long as humans have existed. But the world wasn't always quite as connected as it is now. So imagine you're living back a few thousand years. And there's a guy up on a hill obsessed with lightning that has been there since you were a kid and your parents have stories of how he was there when they were kids and so on. And, every now and then, he helps, or performs a miracle, or does something that can't be explained," Emily said.

"So the Gods are all fake?" Harry asked.

"No. I mean…maybe? Imagine Nicholas Flamel, I believe you're familiar enough with him, but with a superiority complex. Eventually people figure it out. Especially our kind. Recognition gives it away. But he can live for so long. Wizards already live naturally longer. And there's way to augment that. Stories get told, stories spread," Emily said.

"The myths are true?" Harry asked.

"Some of them," Emily said.

"You slept with Odysseus!" Harry said, not really sure why that came to the forefront of his mind.

"Yes," she responded.

"Wait, didn't you like have his kid and then marry his other kid or something?" Harry asked, vaguely recalling a myth of that nature.

"What? No! I've never been pregnant," Emily said. She paused when she said it, looking momentarily contemplative. But then she continued. "And I never saw him, or any member of his family, after he left Aeaea."

"But I could have sworn that was in a myth," Harry said.

"And is everything they write about you true?" Emily asked.

"No, I guess not," Harry said. "Why'd you do it?"

"What? Sleep with Odysseus?" she blinked as she said it, wondering why he would even ask that sort of question.

"Yes," he said, blushing as he spoke.

"I was bored and lonely," she shrugged. "Being trapped on an island with no other population doesn't give you a lot of options. It's when the animals start looking attractive that you realize you have a problem."

"Oh," Harry said, looking away and flushing a deep crimson.

"Trust me. You get a little stir crazy and sometimes you come up with ideas that are best not thought about or acted upon," Emily teased.

"Like what?" Harry asked.

"For both our sakes I'm not going to answer that question," Emily said. "Although I will say that I improved upon most of Odysseus's crew when I turned them into animals."

"Pigs," Harry said, something sticking out in the back of his mind. A question rose to his lips, but he didn't speak it as bile joined it in his throat. He washed it away with a sip of wine, knowing he didn't want the answer to it at that moment.

"Is that what they say now? I didn't turn them all to pigs. That would have been too easy and too boring," Emily said. "I mean they were so very annoying. I remember a lot of foxes and cats."

"Yes. You're not really, from what I remember, painted very favorably," Harry said.

"That's fine," Emily responded.

"It doesn't bother you?" he said.

"Should it?" Emily asked.

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "You mentioned Flamel. Is that how you stay alive so long? The Elixir of Life I mean."

"No," Emily said.

"Could you even make it?" He asked.

"Yes," she smirked, as if she found that amusing. His eyes narrowed before he asked his next question

"Then how are you still alive?"

"My father was a Titan and my mother was a Goddess," Emily shrugged. Something was wrong about that statement in her head. She wanted to argue the particulars of it. But there was little point in arguing with herself. The notion of her mother having power didn't sit well in her mind.

"But you just said they weren't any different than witches and wizards," Harry said.

"It's complicated," she sighed. "For the purpose of generic questioning the difference doesn't matter. But honestly, Harry, I've always just been what I am. Mortality has never been a thought. I don't know how it works. The how never really mattered to me. It was just a way of differentiating us from the common mortal trash."

"That's not a very nice way to refer to humanity," Harry said.

"It is not. But it was what I was taught for the first years of my life," Emily said.

"Is it what you think now?" he asked.

"Depends on the human," she responded.

"Me?" he asked. She raised her brows at him and sipped her wine.

"What about you?" she countered.

"Am I a trash human?" he sighed, annoyed at having to reiterate the question.

"No," she chuckled and smiled at him, her sole dimple standing out on her thin face. Her expression became oddly playful as she answered. Harry had the strangest feeling she meant something else. Like she was only answering part of the question. Was he trash, or was he human? The consequences of that phrase were far too much for him to compute at that moment, so he went back to his questions.

"So, you won't ever die?" he asked.

"No," she sighed and he realized they'd covered this already. "We can be killed. We just stop aging. I don't know why. I've never wanted to find out why."

"Has anyone? I mean are there any theories?" Harry asked.

"Plenty," she said. "The most common two are elixir of life in the womb or just magically strong enough that the magic doesn't let you."

"Those aren't good explanations," Harry said.

"I didn't say they would be," she said. Harry knew there were just talking in circles. He sighed and asked one more questions.

"What do you want me to call you?" he asked.

"Emily is fine," she shrugged. "It certainly fits in more with the era and you've used it for a year. If you want to switch it to Circe I'll still respond."

"Circily?" he asked.

"No," she said. But there was a ghost of a smile in her refusal.

"Okay," he said. "What do we do now?"

"Wait," she responded. "We're here for a reason, supposedly. It's time to see what that reason is."

"I don't like waiting," Harry admitted.

"I don't think anyone does," Emily said.

"How long do you think we'll be here?" he asked.

"I have no idea," she said. "But we may as well make ourselves comfortable while we are. I'd take the master suite but that seems odd if the master comes by to use it. So why don't we head upstairs to see what the bedrooms are?"

"Fine," Harry said, knowing she was just trying to distract him. They returned to the staircase in the foyer just a few minutes later. There were about a score of bedrooms upstairs. The first one they opened was a cluttered mess. Harry looked around at it in shock. It definitely had a lived in feel to it. There was queen sized canopied bed and a large vanity with all sorts of makeup around it. There were bookshelves, a large television, and band posters on the walls.

"This does not look right," Harry said.

"I guess not," Emily said. Harry took a moment to look at some of the photos on the vanity. There was one of Seth and a dark haired woman with silvery eyes hugging a dark haired teen. Next to it there was another of the same dark haired teen, looking a little older, smiling with a blonde girl about her same age. And a third photo of her and the blonde girl arm and arm with two boys. They both wore dresses that were definitely not of the current era, yet were in front of a backdrop of architecture that was either ancient or not of this world.

"What is this?" Harry asked,

"Someone else's room," Emily said, pulling him from it and continuing down the hallway.

"Are we sure the paper said nineteen thirty?" Harry asked.

"Yes. From what you saw does it surprise you that the house is anachronistic?" Emily asked.

"Perhaps not," Harry said as Emily opened another door halfway down the hall.

"This one looks normal," Emily said as she peered in. Harry looked around her shoulder sand saw what looked like a standard hotel room. The furnishings in this one appeared to be of the correct era.

"Who's do you think that was?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Emily said. Harry thought she sounded a little stiff as she spoke, her voice filled with something akin to regret. "I'm going to take this one."

"Okay," Harry said. She kept her back to him, as he she didn't want him to look at her in that moment. He took the hint and moved further down the hallway. He walked by two more doors before opening one and finding it to be much like the one he'd left her in. He stepped in and looked around at the room, wondering just how long it would be home for.

There wasn't any clothing in the room, but that didn't surprise him too much. He stripped down to his underwear and moved toward the bed, figuring his best course of action this evening was purely to sleep.

The next few days dragged. It stayed rainy and Harry constantly wondered why anyone would bother living on this Island when the Greek Isles existed. He spent the first day looking at period appropriate attire only to realize he hated it and decided to just wear versions of jeans and t-shirts he could transfigure. Emily showed him a charm that made Muggles not notice.

They spent the first few days just wandering around London, looking for anything that stuck out to him. Nothing really did. He'd wander around the city in the morning and return to the house around lunch time. Which typically coincided with Emily deciding she'd enjoyed enough of the magical sun on the indoor beach.

Harry still couldn't figure out if it was entirely a created beach made from pure magic or if it was just some sort of transportation spell to a time and a place where there wouldn't be other people around to notice them. But he couldn't figure it out one way or another and when he asked Emily she just shrugged as if she didn't really care about the detail. All he knew was it was perfectly capable of giving him sunburn and while she'd put lotion on him once, he didn't want to have to ask her to do it again.

She'd make lunch and then they'd wander more about the city. Wandering with her was different than when he did it alone. She was more interested in seeing new things and enjoying herself, while he spent every waking moment looking over his shoulder for a portal. They'd found Diagon Alley and Harry found he started stopping there at least once a day. It felt good to be part of the magical world. Although there were moments when it was quite strange. Like seeing a very young Ollivander manning the wand shop. And once, he could have sworn he saw a disturbingly attractive Madame Hooch entering the broom store.

They'd typically eat out amidst their wanderings. Emily was equally interested in trying fish and chips wrapped in newspaper as she was fine dining. The dining options in the thirties surprised him. But the magical world seemed to have better options than the Muggle one so they'd usually at somewhere in the Alley, and then they'd return home.

The night often brought part of a bottle of wine. Before they slept and started the entire routine over again. They days bled away and with each passing hour Harry found himself more antsy. He kept wondering if it would wind up being years in the thirties. But he knew that was thinking far too far ahead. So, he tried to push the thought out of his head and continued wandering through London.

His attention was drawn to an orphanage not far from Seth's house. He wandered toward the wrought iron fence that lined the property and stared at the building. It was well kept but still managed to have a distinctly run down feel to it. Perhaps it was just the nature of the drab, cool days. Or maybe it was just the occupants wearing distinctly shabby clothing.

Of course, it could have just been their situation, he thought, that made everything seem dour to him. Not that their situation was much different than his as a child. At least the generalities of it.

A few kids were playing along the side of the building, kicking a ball back and forth while a few others watched. Harry watched the game for a few minutes. Although calling it a game seemed to be a bit of a stretch, there seemed to be no real rules or anything of that nature. But that didn't seem to deter their enjoyment.

He couldn't help but wonder if he would have preferred that. In theory, he knew, that every one of the kids before him probably wished there was an aunt and uncle to take them in, feed them, clothe them, take care of them. But in practice he couldn't help but wonder if he would have preferred to be amongst others his age. He shook that thought from his head, knowing full well that thinking too hard about it would just cause him to become depressed.

He walked down the length of the building, moving past the children playing and down toward the house. He was distracted by a girl sitting on the front steps of the orphanage. She was perhaps ten, with lanky brown hair and very dour features. She was sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees, her face pressed against her legs. Harry peered at her for a moment, wondering just why she wasn't joining in with the other children.

A moment later an older woman, perhaps in her sixties, came out from the door, annoyance in her voice as she spoke. Harry heard familiar words, words of complaint about the child. It could have easily been his Aunt Petunia talking to him.

But it wasn't. The woman harped at the girl, who seemed to grow smaller with each word. The argument seemed dull to him. Just that it was time to come in and get cleaned up for the evening and that she couldn't hide out front forever. The girl didn't move until the woman took her hand and dragged her inside.

Harry frowned to himself at that, thinking that it really probably wasn't much different than the Dursley's. A sickening feeling welled in his stomach as he walked, but he couldn't really place the cause of it. He assumed that he was just hungry.

He was back at the house in moments. One glance in the kitchen told him that Emily was probably still at the beach, so he walked out there. It was a very warm and humid day there and he instantly regretted the light jacket and jeans he wore.

It was only about twenty paces from the door to the small cabana with a few lounge chairs set up. He walked up to them and sat down at one underneath an umbrella while looking at the chair in the sun

Emily lay on her back, sunglasses over her eyes, a small smile on her face as she enjoyed the warmth. She was wearing a green bikini that was obviously not of the era and, if Harry was honest, made him slightly uncomfortable. A thin sheen of sweat was visible on her body, her tanned skin gleaming in the sun.

"Did you pass out or just not hungry this afternoon?" he asked.

"Can't feed yourself?" she teased.

"Of course I can," Harry said. "Was just curious as to how much food I should make."

"I could eat," she said.

"I'll get something started," he responded, standing from his chair and moving toward the exit and away from the magical humidity.

He entered the kitchen and started through the oddly modern cabinets and appliances. It was all still a bit strange to him. It was very easy to forget what year it was while inside the house.

There wasn't a whole lot of food readily available. He frowned as he looked through the cabinets and the refrigerator, again assuming that wasn't a common thing for the period. He couldn't find much outside of some basic vegetables.

He diced chunks of cucumber and tomato, tossing them into a bowl. He found some olives next and just threw them in with the vegetables. Next he grabbed a book from underneath the counter. He let his fingers trace over the bright pages, paging absently to where he knew the dressings were. But he paused and flipped to the copyright at the front.

He couldn't help but chuckle as he stared down at it for a few moments, before flipping back to the dressings.

"Did I just hear a laugh from mister dour?" Emily asked as she entered the kitchen. He was stirring the ingredients together in a measuring cup as she entered.

"Probably," Harry said, raising a brow at her comment. He didn't think his mood had been that poor of late.

"What was so amusing then?" she asked, sitting at a stool near the counter. Harry looked at everything but her as she sat down. As pleasant as it was, it could be rather distracting.

"This cook book I'm using a dressing recipe from wasn't published when we were back in normal time," Harry said.

"That sounds like something Seth would do," Circe said.

"You'd think people would notice," he said.

"I doubt any of the locals can even see this place, much less have ever been allowed inside it," she said.

"Still there's always a chance they stumble onto it," Harry said. He put the bowl of chopped vegetables and the cup of dressing before her, before going and grabbing a couple of smaller bowls out of a cabinet and slid one to her.

"Not with Seth," She said as she summoned a pair of tongs to her and picked out what she wanted before drizzling some of the dressing over it and adding a few more olives. He took the tongs from her and picked at the remnants.

"If you insist," he said.

"This isn't bad," she said, gesturing to his lunch.

"It's pretty much the first thing you served me," Harry said. "And we don't really have any other food here. We might want to actually stock up on groceries."

"We were worried about how long we'd be here and leaving food," Emily said.

"And that doesn't seem like it's going to be something that is resolved quickly. So we may as well at least have access to whatever we want to eat," Harry said.

"I'm okay with that," Emily yawned. "We can stop by the alley and get some food this afternoon."

"Okay," Harry said. They ate fairly quickly and Emily wandered up to her room shortly after. Harry passed the time by reading recipes in the cook book while sitting at the table. She emerged a few minutes later wearing a dress that was considerably less flattering than her green bikini. Which did at least mean he could look at her without blushing.

"Shall we head to the market?" she asked. She had a purse thrown over her shoulder and took a moment to peer through it.

"Alright," Harry said. They left the house and walked toward Diagon Alley. It had become a bit of a routine, so it was slightly odd to him when she wandered off down the wrong street. But he didn't say anything. Instead he lagged behind as she peered into shops and around the city, a constant amused look on her face.

It took them a while to even make it to the alley. And even longer to shop. Then, since it wasn't that terrible of a day out, she insisted they walk back with the groceries. Which seemed mildly pointless to Harry as they were all shrunk and in one bag anyway. But he obliged without comment and helped her put them away upon their return.

Only to have her decide that she wanted to go out to dinner. So, Harry took her out to dinner. They drew some strange stares from the other patrons but Harry ignored it. Emily seemed a little bit distracted, spending a great deal of time peering around him and looking around the restaurant. She seemed moderately distracted by something but it became clear that she wasn't going to talk about it. He didn't press.

About halfway through the meal she stopped eating. Harry watched her for a few moments before asking what was wrong. Nothing, she insisted. He returned to his food, keeping a quizzical eye on her as she put her silverware down and did everything in her power to make it look like she wasn't staring at one point. Harry didn't notice anything unusual about the other diners. He thought her eyes focused on what looked like a father and daughter eating at a corner table. But he couldn't get a good enough look at them without being incredibly obvious. And he was more interested in his food than the other diners.

Still, he tried to make conversation, finding the silence a little bit unnerving. But that could have just been the tension that pooled from her. Her shoulders and back were incredibly stiff in that moment. He wondered if too much time on a lounge chair was catching up to her.

She paid rather abruptly and left the restaurant while Harry was still finishing up. He chased her back onto the street. It was starting to drizzle as he stepped onto the street. He peered left and right but saw no real sign of where she was going.

He closed his eyes for a moment and focused. It was a trick she'd taught him early on on the island. They'd brought it up at school too, but never to the extent she'd shown him. Magic always left a trace. And he knew her magic. It felt off to call it her scent as it wasn't associated with that sense. But that was the word that stuck in his head.

He'd been around her magic for over a year. She taught him things with her magic. He _knew_ her magic. He knew how it felt, he knew what to look for. He knew what it was like even when she wasn't actively wielding it.

He turned left and moved quickly down the street.

It took him a few blocks to catch up to her. She was standing on a street corner, unbothered by the water landing on her. Her eyes were razor focused on one building in front of her.

Harry stood next to her, peering at the house she paused by. There were only a few other people out and about on the rainy evening.

"Friends of yours?" Harry asked, nodding toward the house.

"Acquaintances," Emily said dryly. Her gaze flashed down the street as a man and a girl turned up it. Harry thought he recognized them from the restaurant but they were too far away from him to tell for sure.

"I sense there's more to it than that," Harry said.

"Perhaps," Emily shrugged, as if she herself wasn't quite sure yet.

"Well how does an Ancient Greek witch have friends in the thirties of England?" Harry asked.

"I'm not ancient," Emily scoffed, as if offended by the remark.

"Didn't answer the question," Harry said.

"I guess not," she responded. "I don't know them. At least I don't think I do. But something is telling me to be here. And there's something familiar about it. Something just under the surface."

"Interesting," Harry said. His attention turned to the man and the girl as they approached the house. Suddenly, the girl looked rather familiar. "I think that girl lives at the orphanage down the road."

"Oh," Emily said rather emotionlessly as the man fumbled through his pocket for his keys. The man found the key and unlocked the door. His arm slid around the girl, his hand resting on her back as he motioned, he led her inside. Harry watched as his hand slid down her backside as he pushed her through the threshold.

"Did he just," Harry turned to Emily. Her expression stopped him in place. Her eyes were narrow and furious, her jaw clenched. He could feel power radiating from her as she stared at the building, tensing to move toward it.

But she didn't pounce. After a moment her expression grew blank and her eyes turned up toward the second story of the building. He could feel the raw power surrounding her, feel the fury in it that no longer showed on her face. And he knew he'd have to calm her or a street of Muggle London may vanish forever.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit

Acknowledgments: Rpeh on the beta work.

Chapter Five

"Emily what are you doing?" Harry hissed as she moved toward the door. She gave no indication that she heard him. Instead she kept moving toward the door. She moved deliberately, her body tensing with every motion, her eyes narrowing as she stepped closer to her goal.

"Emily!" Harry hissed again, following after her. Again, it was like she didn't hear him. She slipped between two pedestrians without effort and continued up the street. Harry apologized as he stepped into an annoyed looking woman and continued after her.

He saw her standing near the door of the building. She looked dazed. A glassy sheen covering her eyes. As if they were seeing something that only she could see. He weaved through the pedestrians and found himself at her side a moment later.

"Emily!?" he hissed for a third time. She stood frozen at the door to the building. Harry placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her slightly, attempting to get her attention. She kept standing there. A few people walking past in the street stared at them while they passed. But no one bothered to stop. Harry thought they must make an odd sight.

Looking closer at Emily and he thought she looked dead on her feet. There were bags forming under her glossy eyes that he didn't recall being present during dinner. Her attention appeared to be anywhere else despite her eyes focusing on the door.

He slid his hand down and took hers into his. Hers was smaller, her fingers soft, her nails well-manicured as he ran his fingers over them. He squeezed it and whispered to her.

"Come on, Emily, let's go home," he said and started to tug her back to the house. She took one step with him and then pulled back hard, nearly pulling him over, as she continued to stare at the door.

"No," she said. "I can't. I….I…"

"What is it?" he asked, looking at the door, half expecting traces of magic on it. He moved around her easily enough, sliding his wand into his hand as he stared at it.

"I can't leave," she said sternly. She took another step toward the door. It seemed to take a great deal of energy on her part. Harry closed his eyes and focused on the door. He felt nothing. He could feel her there, sure, next to him. But he couldn't feel any other presence.

He paused for a moment though. Something seemed wrong in his head. He kept his eyes closed but still tried to look around, to feel around him. In the darkness of his head he could see her. A sort of glowing red aura from his left. He could feel her. He could sense her warmth and her power.

He could feel her there, he could see her in his mind clearer than if he actually opened his eyes. He blinked them open in surprise.

"Woah," he said. Emily made no comment. She reached for the door but her hand hesitated. Harry found himself growing annoyed at the inaction as the incantation for opening doors sprung to his lips. The door opened itself and he stared at her.

"Thank you," she muttered as she stepped through the door. She moved through the building with a familiarity that seemed out of place. She quickly moved ahead of him. He followed her until she stopped outside of another door. She reached for it but again her hand didn't seem able to grip the handle.

He could see the muscles in her arms straining against some unknown force. Again, he felt no magic in the air. But she was unable to push through the air around her. She'd made it about twenty steps ahead of him and he closed the gap slowly, waiting outside the door with her.

"What are we doing, Emily?" he asked as his wand leveled once more on a locked door. She didn't look at him when she spoke.

"I need to do something here," she said.

"What?" he asked.

"Something," she said.

"Then do it," Harry countered, eyeing the door.

"Something isn't letting me," she said through grit teeth.

"There's nothing here," Harry responded.

"It doesn't want me to go forward," she countered. Harry raised his brows. He knew enough about magic to both be slightly concerned and incredibly intrigued. And, given that he'd grown to assume magic had put them in this area. Perhaps it was something worth exploring. He slashed his wand at the door and once again it unlocked and opened.

This time, though, Emily didn't move. Her breath hitched in her throat as she stared forward and into the flat that now appeared before them. Harry stepped behind her and peered over her head, gazing into the dark room. There was a light on at the end of a hall, filtering slightly out around a corner. But there were no other signs of life.

He placed his hand on the middle of her back and pushed her into the flat. She turned and glared at him as she tripped over her own feet and stumbled into the kitchen.

"Don't do that," she hissed, turning to glare at him from the kitchen. He raised his brows and put his hands on her shoulders, ready to push again. But the look in her eyes told him that would be a stupid idea.

"Why are we here?" he asked again. She frowned up at him, her eyes seeming to water in the darkness of the room. He noticed she made no attempt to wiggle out of his grasp or remove his hands at all.

"You don't need to be here. I can do it myself," Emily said.

"You're not really doing that in a hurry," he said.

"You don't need to see this," Emily frowned.

"I don't even know what this is," Harry said.

"You should go," she said. Harry noticed she was blushing red. She looked embarrassed. She turned her gaze away from his like she didn't want him to press.

"You haven't been able to move without me pushing you, so I don't think that me leaving would provide you much of a boon," Harry said. "Now what are we looking for?"

"Harry please, just go. I'll meet you back at the house soon," she said.

"I don't think I will," Harry said. He slid his hands down her shoulders and her arms, sliding his own briefly into hers. "So where are we going?"

"Please, Harry," she said. But he ignored her and started to move down the hall toward the faint source of light there. He pulled her along with him. Moving slowly down the hall toward a door that wasn't fully closed. Dim light came from it as they moved.

Harry stepped toward the door, surprised at how difficult each step grew as he pulled Emily behind him. It was like she gained a stone each time he moved. He didn't look back at her as he walked. He didn't need to. He could feel her anxiety without looking at it. He wondered just what about this had her so concerned, so on edge.

It was unlike her. At least in the time he'd known her she'd never been one to shirk away from something. Or to worry. Or to not have an answer in her own little calm way. But now it was difficult to even walk down toward a doorway. And she was obviously scared of it.

That thought gave him some pause. He'd seen her do magic. He'd seen her perform spells he barely understood. He'd could sense her power. And here she was, scared stiff by something he couldn't sense.

And there she was again, trying desperately to get him to not face it for her. Perhaps she knew far more than he did. And perhaps he was being foolish for listening to her. But he'd always been the curious sort. And he knew that curiosity was going to win out, no matter what she did. The closer he grew to that door, the more he wanted to see what was behind it.

When he finally made it to the door he pulled her in front of him as they both peered through the few inches it was open and into the dimly lit room. There were perhaps only a couple of lit candles inside. It was enough light to cast a subtle glow in the room and the hallway beyond.

Harry peered through the gap in the door and into the room. He saw a bed, dark blankets and pillows adorning it, and not much else at first. But, after a few moments, a man stepped into view. He was perhaps in his forties and he was only wearing his underwear.

Harry supposed that shouldn't have been that surprising given it was a bedroom. But he still didn't really want to see that. He peered over at Emily to see what her reaction was. She merely stood there, stiff as a board. He peered around her to see her face. She had no expression at all.

In fact, her eyes looked rather glazed over again. Like a sheen had fallen over them as she stared into the bedroom. He waved his hand in front of her face as her pupils shot around. But they didn't focus on anything he did or anything he could see. Whatever was gracing her vision. He had no idea what it could be. He shrugged his shoulders and let his curiosity win as he turned his attention back to the door.

He recognized the man from the restaurant. It was the same man Emily was glaring at through dinner. Harry vaguely remembered him being with a girl that he assumed was a daughter. But something about the flat made it seem like an unlikely place for a young girl to live. There was no real sign that it was anything but a bachelor pad.

And then the man answered his question by stepping around her.

The brunette girl stood there, her eyes focused on the ground, as the man stood behind her and untied the bathrobe she wore. She didn't struggle at all as he peeled it off of her shoulders. His arms slid around her, one hand sliding low, down her stomach, the other up. She stood there, unresponsive to the touch, her eyes looked to be a million miles away.

Harry froze.

She couldn't have been more than nine or ten. She looked vaguely familiar to Harry, but before he could place it a rage filled him. He remembered his wand was still in his hand and he raised it immediately.

But he paused. The man was so tightly wrapped around the girl, and the room seemed oddly red and spinning as his rage filled him, that he wasn't sure if he could hit one without hitting the other.

Perhaps, he thought, he could summon the girl out of the way and then curse the man. A million possibilities shooting through his head as to what curse he would use on the man. He raised his wand and waited until the man's grip on the girl loosened so he could summon her away.

Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked to see Emily next to him. Her eyes were in focus again, but watering. Tears stained her cheeks. She shook her head and something inside Harry broke.

No? No? Why would she stop him? The man deserved whatever Harry was going to do to him and probably worse. But here she was, preventing him from doing that? No, she couldn't prevent him from acting. Not this time.

He let the power flare up inside of him as he prepared to end the man before him. But then he felt himself being forced into a tube, a suffocating pressure enclosing all around him. And, just when he thought it was going to kill him, it stopped. And he was back in the house they shared, in the foyer.

He shook as the realization dawned on him. The realization of what would happen to the girl and how he was now powerless to stop it. Powerless because she took him from that location.

"What the hell," he growled, turning and leveling his wand on her. But she didn't rise to defend herself at all. She was barely even looking at him. She just shook her head again, sadly, and used her sleeve to wipe the tears from her face.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. And Harry felt the rage drain out of him in an instant. But he still needed answers. He still needed to know what all of this meant. How had she known? He knew of mind magic, but he hadn't been able to feel her doing any magic. Sure, she likely could have concealed that from him. But she'd shown him how to sense it. And there had been nothing.

"What was that?" he asked, his jaw set tightly as he spoke.

"You didn't need to see that," she said. "I'm sorry I took you there. It wasn't necessary."

"What. Was. That?" he asked again.

"What you thought," she said, looking away from him.

"Why did you stop me?" he asked. She didn't answer him. Instead she walked from the atrium she'd Apparated them to and into the kitchen. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself as she did, rubbing at them as if she was cold. He followed her.

She was pulling down a glass from a cabinet when he entered the kitchen. She took an unlabeled bottle of amber liquid from the shelf and pulled the cap off. She sniffed the contents once before pouring a glass and sitting at the bar.

But she didn't drink from it. And she didn't look at him. She stared off at the French doors leading to Seth's beach. But she made no motion to move to it. Her eyes were glassy again and Harry thought the tears might return at any moment.

Harry watched her in silence. He waited for her to break it, knowing full well that she wasn't going to. She stared at her drink on the counter but made no more to lift it to her lips. Instead she wrapped her arms more tightly around herself as if she were outside in the cold.

He moved to the cabinet as well, taking out a glass of his own and then picking up the bottle she left out. He pulled some of the liquid into the glass and sniffed at it. It smelled faintly of honey and was perhaps too sweet for his tastes. But he drank it all the same. He gave her ten minutes and half the glass before he spoke again.

"Are we going to talk about it?" he asked, perhaps too tersely.

"I don't need to," she said.

"Well, unfortunately for you, there's two of us here," he responded. "And I would really like to know."

"What?" she interrupted sharply. "What would you like to know?"

"Why would we leave that…that….man…alone with that girl?" Harry said through grit teeth, the anger rushing back to him almost immediately.

"We have to," she said.

"Bollocks," he responded. "That can't be your excuse for everything."

"There's so much you don't understand," she said. Again, she refused to meet his eyes. He wanted to grab her and shake her. To make her look at him. To make her explain why they were condoning such a heinous act. He felt dirty even letting the thoughts pass through his mind.

"Then explain it to me," he ordered. She stiffened for a moment at his tone and then finally raised her eyes to look at him, her guise filled with rage.

"I don't think I should," she said quietly.

"You're going to have to give me something," Harry said. "Or I'm going to go find him and kill him. I'm pretty sure I can. They were only a couple of streets over."

"No, you can't," she said.

"Yes, I can," Harry said as he started moving toward the door. "Watch me."

"No," she said, strength returning to her voice as she lifted her eyes to look at him, although her arms wrapped even tighter around her body.

"Give me an actual reason to not do it," Harry said.

"I'm asking you," Emily said.

"A good reason," Harry countered.

"We can't," she said, emphasizing the second word.

"Yes, we can," he sighed. "It wouldn't even be difficult."

"It's not a question of ability or difficulty," Emily countered.

"He's a monster," Harry replied.

"It's not a question of morality either," Emily said.

"Then why?" Harry asked. "You wanted to. I could tell just by looking at your face. You wanted to so badly and then…and then you hesitated. Why?"

"We can't," she said again.

"I'm going to have to hex it out of you, aren't I?" Harry asked.

"You could try," Emily growled.

"Talk to me," he said again.

"When I got closer to them everything was harder. It was like weights were attached to me. I couldn't move. And I saw things. Saw things I'd rather not see. Saw things that could have happened. Or did happen. Or wouldn't happen. I don't know, the images all flashed by so quickly," Emily said.

"What does that matter?" Harry scoffed.

"It showed me things," Emily said. "And it showed me things that would or wouldn't happen if continued down that path."

"I can't imagine killing one pervert has much of an impact on the rest of the world," Harry said.

"Perhaps not," she said. "Perhaps he wasn't the important one?"

"What the girl?" Harry laughed, earning him a glare from Emily.

"Is that so hard to believe?" Emily spat.

"Well she's just a girl," Harry said. But he knew his mistake as soon as he said it. He shook his head and refilled his drink. "A girl who will grow up some day."

"Exactly," she said.

"But we could have made that easier for her. How could avoiding such trauma be a bad thing?" Harry asked.

"Perhaps the trauma molds her into who she needs to be," Emily said.

"That's disgusting," Harry responded.

"That's life," Emily said. "We are all the sum of our parts. Do you think you'd be who you are had you known your parents?"

"Yes," Harry said. Emily raised her brows at him.

"Do you really?" she asked again. Harry frowned and looked at her, letting that thought run through his head. And, if he was being honest with himself, he didn't think he'd be the same person without the Dursley's upbringing. But he wasn't sure that was a bad thing.

"Okay fine, maybe not. But we still should have stopped it. Your excuse is terrible. By your logic we shouldn't do anything at all. Every little thing we do could change something. If we're going to just be frightened of that we may as well just cower inside," Harry argued.

"I know it's a bad excuse. But…did you…did you not feel that?" she asked.

"Feel what?" he asked.

"When I got to the door I couldn't move. It wasn't until you opened it that I could even fathom entering. And then we were there and it got worse. It was suffocating," she said.

"No, nothing like that for me. It wasn't any different than anything else," Harry admitted.

"Well after that the visions started. And, like I said, I saw everything. It was nauseating. Thousands of different things that could happen but not what I know should happen. And it didn't change until I decided the best course was to get us out of there," Emily said.

"None of that happened to me," Harry said.

"Maybe it wasn't for you to make that decision," Emily said.

"And it was for you?" Harry countered.

"I certainly have far more experience with it than you do," she responded, her cheeks flushing pink as her glare fixated on him.

"And that makes it your decision? Wouldn't that make you more likely to stop it?" Harry asked.

"I've been in those situations," she said. "I know what happens. I can still feel what they did to me."

"And you don't want to stop it?" Harry asked.

"It isn't about what I want," she snapped.

"Then what is it about?" he asked.

"It's about what I can do. It's about making sure we stay as safe as possible. It's about getting your home," Emily said.

"That's a terrible excuse. I'd rather make a difference than be safe," Harry said.

"Would you say that if you knew exactly what safety meant?" she said.

"Yes," he responded without hesitance. She shook her head and stood.

"I don't want to argue about this," she said. Her arms still wrapped around herself. Harty thought she looked lost as she fled form the room. He watched her go, his eyes lingering perhaps longer than necessary on her. Once she was gone he grabbed his drink and turned to step out toward the magical beach to ponder what she'd said.

Part of him wanted to leave and head immediately back to where he knew the man and the girl were. But something about her words stuck in his head. Something was off. But he couldn't figure it out. He decided that his best course of action, at least for the time being, was to think on what he'd heard and just what he would do.

A sentence stuck out in his head. She'd been in those situations before? He tried to recall the myth, knowing full well the myths were likely worthless. But what had happened to Circe that could desensitize her current ideology to all of that?

His grand solution to all of it was to drink the entire bottle of whatever the alcohol was. A mead of some sort if he had to guess. But given that there was no label and he was far from an expert, he couldn't be sure.

After a few glasses, though, he didn't care. Once he finished the bottle he decided it was time to go to bed. However, he never quite made it. He remembered thinking that he should get off the beach chair and go up to his bedroom. And he remembered thinking that the sound of the waves against the beach were rather relaxing.

And then he remembered thinking the start of the sunset over the horizon was quite beautiful. Except that it shouldn't have been morning yet. He groaned as the realization that he passed out flooded through his mind. He hauled himself to his feet and went back into the kitchen. It was just after five in the morning in London proper and his only real thought was that his head hurt far too much to deal with at that moment. He guzzled down a glass of water, and then a second, before deciding that nothing, aside from perhaps sex with Cassandra, sounded better than more sleep.

Of course, he thought wryly as he stumbled his way up the stairs, drunken cuddling that led to sleeping with Cassandra would invariably lead to a more biblical version of sleeping together come morning. So, in a sense, sleep could lead to sleeping with Cassandra.

Somehow, that thought made perfect sense in his head as he entered his bedroom. He undressed quickly and threw himself face first onto his bed. Some rolling around got him under the covers as his thoughts lingered on Cassandra.

He hadn't thought about her that much since he mourned her leaving with ice cream on the balcony. And he found that odd. He didn't think it was intentional, as he reflected on it now he couldn't remember having the time to miss her.

But now he did. He missed the way her body felt against his, he missed the way she smelled as she pressed against him, he missed the way her soft hair felt against his face, he missed the way she'd squeeze his hand when she wanted something more physical to happen, and he missed having her around him.

He cocooned himself into the blankets, finding one of the fuzzy soft ones and balling it up against himself. He held it tightly to him, pressing his face into it as he shifted around on the bed. He remembered what it felt like to not be alone in bed and wished that someone else was there with him.

He fell asleep to those thoughts as the warmth of the bed enveloped him. And when he woke, he immediately lamented that he was alone in that warmth. Even if he'd overindulged and his head ached it still would have been better with someone sharing his misery.

Of course, he thought as he sat up in bed, there was someone there who would share his misery. And, if he was nice enough, she might even mix up a cure for the throbbing in his head. First, though, he knew he needed to scrub the taste of mead from his mouth.

Once he was clean and presentable, he stepped out into the hallway. He walked over to Emily's bedroom door, rapped his knuckles against the wood and waited. No sound came from the room.

He figured she must have been downstairs and so he moved down to the kitchen. Nothing about the room had changed from the night before. He grabbed himself a glass of water and moved out to the beach. Emily wasn't there. He supposed she must be sleeping and he saw no real reason to wake her up.

An odd thought struck him then. He could remember the night before. When he'd closed his eyes and cleared his mind he'd been able to feel her. He couldn't quite describe the feeling. But there was something to it, a certain warmth that he associated with her. And he'd known just where she was.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He felt nothing. He frowned in the darkness of his own mind before opening his eyes again. The hallway spun around him for a moment and he steadied himself.

But that felt wrong, he was never one to give up after the first attempt. He took a few deep breaths, concentrating on his own thoughts, his own mind, forcing himself to focus.

And then he closed his eyes once more. It wasn't instant, but this time he felt something. Upstairs he could sense power, warmth, and everything he associated with Emily. It felt faint, but he could sense it there. Somehow, in a way he couldn't explain, it just enforced his thought that she must have been asleep.

Harry decided to kill some time by making breakfast. He paged through one of Seth's cookbooks, looking for anything that would catch his eye to attempt to make. But his head hurt too much to bother getting more than a few sentences into each recipe before he gave up.

Instead he scrambled a few eggs and fried up some bacon. He ate a little more than half and put the rest on a tray. He filled another glass of water and returned to the upstairs hallway.

"Emily?" he asked the closed door, knocking on it once more. He waited a minute for a response but one didn't come. He frowned and closed his eyes again. He could steel feel something inside the room. Something small and warm curled up a few feet away from the door.

"I made some eggs. I'll just charm them to stay warm and leave them here," he said. He levitated the tray outside the door, a few feet away so she wouldn't walk into it when exiting, and turned to move back down the hallway.

He couldn't sense any sort of movement from inside but he decided the best course of action was to shrug his shoulders and go about his day.

He left the house without any more fanfare and wandered toward Diagon Alley. He had no real reason for going there, except that it felt nice to be among wizards. It was a short walk to the alley, through the Leaky Cauldron.

There wasn't a whole lot of action that late morning. He spent the day looking at what constituted quality Quidditch supplies in the nineteen thirties. It was a fairly stark contrast to what he was accustomed to. His Firebolt may as well have been a flying saucer compared to the brooms on display. Hell, even the one Emily made for him was better than the ones in the windows.

But it was still interesting to him to see the older pads, older brooms, and compare them to what he knew. He half wondered if he knew enough about broom design to leave a sketch somewhere and change the future of brooms entirely. Deep down, he knew he didn't know enough of the intimate details to do so. Still, the thought amused him and kept him entertained for most of the day.

He closed his eyes as he stepped out of the broom shop. His head automatically turned toward Seth's home. He could feel her there. The more he focused on it the more he could pinpoint her exact location. He wondered if she could do the same thing. He made a mental note to ask her about it.

It was an odd feeling. He could tell she was still in her bedroom. It was like a floating red orb in his mind, when he opened his eyes he thought he could almost see her red dot on the horizon. But he knew he was making that up. As soon as he blinked any notion of it was gone.

He wondered if it was some sort of spell she'd put on him. But that didn't seem likely. He wished he'd realized it sooner and asked her about it. He racked his brain for anything that could explain it.

The only thing he could come up with, that he could actually place, was the portals. He hadn't noticed that sense before the portals. He couldn't remember ever doing it on the island. But he knew enough to know that didn't mean anything.

Still, he knew the portals were supposed to get them home. Although he wondered just what home was supposed to be. He half debated hopping on the train to Surrey and see just what Privet drive looked like in the pre-war era. If it even existed at all. He would freely admit he knew next to nothing about architecture, but nothing about the house struck him as post-war.

That wasn't important though. While his curiosity certainly wasn't slaked there were other things he'd rather be investigating.

If it was the portals, then there had to be some sort of link between the two of them because of it. Something that was making them stay together. Or at least aware of where the other person was. He wondered just what would happen if one of them went through a portal and the other didn't.

It wasn't worth dwelling on, though, as the thought just made him nervous. What was he supposed to do if a portal popped up and she was crying in bed? Was he supposed to go find her? Or what? He shook that thought from his head as there wasn't anything he could do about it and thinking on it made him nervous.

He strolled past a restaurant with large open windows and a group of people eating at a few outdoor tables. It should have been Gladrags, or it would be by his time. But for now it was a restaurant, and one the locals seemed to enjoy. He gazed up at the sign, an oddly angular green board labeled "The Goblin's Ear," and decided it was as good as anywhere else to stop for a bite.

A few of the patrons gave him a curious glance as he leaned against the bar, but no one commented that he should probably still be at Hogwarts and he did his best to act like he belonged. Oddly, he thought, advice he'd stolen from Uncle Vernon.

Harry ordered a beer from the barmaid as he reflected on his uncle. He'd heard his uncle state it on four or five separate occasions. It was simple, really. A mere sentence. Always act like you belonged. He'd go on to say that if you didn't look out of place, people would assume you were meant to be there.

The thought gave him pause as the barmaid placed the dark beer before him without a question. She gestured vaguely to the specials floating on a board above the bar and then moved to help some other patrons. Harry sipped the beer, frowning. It tasted cheap and he decided he'd do his remaining drinking from whatever was in Seth's cellar.

Uncle Vernon had attempted to impart some sort of grand wisdom on Dudley with that phrase. Dudley had taken it to mean he should just strut around like the biggest cock in the county and do whatever he damn well pleased. But Dudley had never been the brightest bulb.

But now that he thought about it, Harry was struck with another odd thought. Vernon would constantly harp on acting like you belonged and that could open far more doors than almost anything else. And, while doing that, he'd continually sequestered Harry. He'd made sure he had no idea how to belong.

So much so that Harry still struggled with making friends and feeling like he belonged. In point of fact, outside of when it was only he, Ron, and Hermione, he very rarely felt that sense of belonging.

Although he did have to admit he'd felt less out of place now than he had in a while. Which seemed slightly ironic given that he was currently a man out of time. Still, there was something soothing about Emily's presence.

He'd noticed it back on Lepsia. When she was around him he felt more like he was where he was supposed to be. Which again struck him as an odd thought, given that he was nowhere near where he should have been.

He finished his beer and decided it was time to head out of the restaurant. He left a few coins on the bar and went on his merry way. Once he was outside, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. She was still where he'd left her, unless his newfound senses were less reliable than he'd assumed.

London had cooled off some as the sun started to set and he walked back toward the house. He sauntered far slower than necessary.

Again he closed his eyes, and again he could feel her inside the building. It took him a minute to realize that should have alarmed him, as, despite the massive amount of magic that went into the building, to create marvels such as the beach, he couldn't sense that it existed at all. And yet he knew it did, and could tell she was inside of it.

Something that complex should have left a trace. He'd never bothered thinking about that before. It was early on in their lessons that she'd taught him about the mark magic left on things. She done so with a very annoying set of tests involving consuming transfigured food and retching up the rocks when he chose wrong.

It hadn't taken very long to figure out what was real and what was created. The signs were all there and fairly obvious when one realized what they should be looking for. But despite knowing that, and knowing that the building in front of him was at least as much magical as it was muggle, he still couldn't sense anything from it.

He walked up to the building and put his hand on the stones. Tactile input often helped to give a better idea of the magic in such a building or object. The problem being if it was charmed against you, touching it could result in significant consequences.

As his hand rested on the stone he still sensed nothing. He stepped back from the building and stared up at it. He'd explored it out of boredom one night. He'd gone up to the third, fourth, and fifth floors just to see what was up there. And yet, his eyes were telling him that the building didn't have that many stories.

He closed his eyes again and tried to find the magic in it once more, knowing full well that this was going to bother him until he figured it out. Magic always left a trace. And he was going to find that trace.

The first thing that popped up when he closed his eyes again was the sense in his mind of where she was. He focused once more on the building but again, nothing registered. He sighed and let his focus wane, fading back into just the warmth he now associated with Emily.

Except then there was a flash of something else. A small feeling of another presence blipped momentarily on his mind, something a few streets over in the opposite direction. But it was gone as soon as he felt it. He turned toward it and opened his eyes.

Part of him felt he should have gone back inside and checked on Emily. To both confirm if she was still where it felt like she should be, and to see if there was anything else he could do for her.

Curiosity won out, though, and instead he started down the street toward the new presence. He sauntered slowly up the street, nodding briefly at a few of the people who passed, which just drew him some odd looks.

He'd pause every few blocks just to check again if he could sense anything. At first, all he could pick up was Emily back at the house. But he kept walking toward where he thought the newer presence was.

He found himself once again walking by the orphanage. Children were playing football, or something that resembled it close enough, outside in the waning light of the day. He watched, for a moment, before continuing on his way.

But this time when he stopped to try to find his way once more the fainter presence popped to the front of his mind. It, like Emily, was behind him. It faded quickly from his mind as the far more powerful presence stayed at the home.

When he opened his eyes they were lingering on the orphanage. He paused as he stared at the building. He closed his eyes again, thinking that this time he thought he could tell what he was looking for.

And this time it obliged. Again, it was only for the briefest of moments, but he could sense something else in the orphanage. He approached the building, and once again found himself following Uncle Vernon's advice as he unlocked the gate with magic and proceeded into the building.

There were a handful of kids running through the building, toward what looked to be a communal dining room. Harry peered at it for a moment but thought that he should at least attempt to be more subtle than that.

And anyway, he didn't think he was going to be heading to the dining area anyway. Something about that rang false in his head. Instead he ducked into the corner and focused once more. His mind telling him he should proceed up the stairs.

The stairs creaked underneath his weight as he moved up them. Someone yelled that it was nearly time to eat and a few more children ran out around him and toward the stairs. He pressed himself to a wall as they ran by him without looking. His eyes scanned over the group and it didn't seem like any of them were worth following.

The décor of the entire building seemed dated. Part of him thought it might have been opulent half a century earlier, but now it all looked shabby and had the sort of mildew smell he associated with places that needed work.

He continued down the hallway, not really paying attention to where he was going, relying on the magic to lead him to where he needed to be. But he found nothing of note. He made it to the end of the hallway and then back again, but nothing stuck out.

He closed his eyes once more and continued to search for the other presence. It was still in the building. But he couldn't find where. He sighed and moved down the stairs. An older, sever looking, woman rushed toward him as he stepped into the foyer.

"What are you doing out here?" she squealed. "You will miss dinner!"

"I don't live here," Harry said.

"What?" the woman looked alarmed. "Then why on Earth are you here?"

"I'm looking for someone," Harry said. He turned his glance away from the woman and then moved to explore the building some more but she blocked him.

"Who?" she asked.

"I don't know," Harry said.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave," she said. Harry turned back to her and glared. But her stern expression won out and he figured it was in his best interest to not argue with her. Although a part of him wanted to hex her and be done with it.

"I was leaving," he lied, moving around her and to the door. She followed him to the door and continued to glare at him as he left. He stepped by a girl sitting on the stone steps outside when he did.

"And you, brat, inside, dinner time," she said. The girl made no motion to move and the matron stepped back into the building. Harry spun around and looked at the girl on the stairs. It was the same girl he'd seen on the stairs the first time he walked by the orphanage.

He walked over to her. She was looking anywhere but at him, and seemed to have no actual interest in going inside to eat. He watched her for a moment before closing his eyes and focusing again. The blip of power was next to him. And then it was gone again, and he could feel Emily a few streets away back at the house. She was restless now though, pacing, he thought. But he didn't concern himself with those thoughts for very long. Instead he moved over toward the girl.

She was slender with mousy brown hair and a slightly vacant expression. Somehow, despite being no older than ten, she seemed to have mastered the thousand-yard stare. He sat next to her on the stone steps. Despite knowing there was no real way he could know who she was, something felt oddly familiar about her. He could have sworn he'd seen her before.

"Hello," he said. She didn't respond verbally but instead shifted slightly away from him. He racked his brain for why she felt so familiar. The more he focused on her, the more he could sense the lingering warmth of magic around her. She would get a Hogwarts letter in a year or so, he thought. When she didn't respond he decided to try again.

"I'm Harry," he said. She stiffened but after a moment looked over at him.

"Not John?" she asked.

"No. Middle name is James though," he shrugged.

"It's normally a John that I have to leave with," she said. And it all clicked in Harry's head. He'd seen her the night before. And, despite knowing that he'd seen her, there'd been a sort of disconnect between the girl he failed to save and the girl he'd seen on the steps. The bile rose in his throat as struggled to speak.

"And you think you're going to have to leave with me?" he asked.

"Am I not?" she countered.

"If you did," Harry said, "You would never come back here."

"Uh-huh," she snorted.

"You've heard that before I take it?" Harry said.

"I've heard lots of things before," she said.

"I'm sure," Harry sighed. "I know what they…You should go to the police."

"I don't get to leave without one of them," she said quietly.

"Then run away," he said.

"I've tried," she scoffed. "It was worse with broken bones."

"I…" Harry started. The girl pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them.

"I'm Emily," she said after minutes of silence.

"That seems to be a common name of late," he said.

"I guess," she shrugged. "There's another Emily here too. She's five."

"I see," Harry said. He peered over his shoulder at the building, wondering if the same fate would befall her. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came. He knew what he needed to do. He needed to find a way to save all of them. To get them out of that building. To change whatever was going on. But he didn't know how to do that. The police, he thought. The police had to be his best bet.

He stood, wondering where the nearest officer was. Wondering how he would explain it. A girl told him, he thought. That would be the easiest way. The girl didn't even look at him when he stood. He heard the door open behind him and the matron's voice rang out.

"For the last time, Miss Riddle, get inside for dinner!" the woman barked. The words rang through his head. Miss Riddle. Emily. Emily Riddle. His wand was in his hand before he even finished turning around.

He saw the matron pull the girl into the building. She fought against the woman but wasn't strong enough to break away as she was pulled back inside. Harry moved to follow but then paused.

A small voice in the back of his mind whispered something to him that sent a chill down his spine. He'd been able to sense two things in this time. Two specific people. The first one, a trapped Angelo-Greek witch he'd spent the last year with named Emily. Sure, she claimed she was an ancient Greek witch from myth, but that was only verified by a friend of hers. And…a young…Emily Riddle.

But, the voice whispered, what if it wasn't two people he was sensing. What if it was the same person, but at different times. That would mean…

He gripped his wand tighter and closed his eyes once more. After a brief ping from the orphanage he felt the power welling behind him. He could sense Emily leaving the house. She was moving in his direction. He spun around, ready for a fight he wasn't sure he could win. But he didn't see Emily as he turned.

Instead he saw the silvery sheen of another portal. He felt it around him, all encompassing, and then he started to fall as it pulled him elsewhere.


End file.
